Full Immersion
by Eggspert
Summary: The door shuts between us, and suddenly I am in a freezing village of people who hate me with only a trained assassin for company. I am so dead. (I'm sorry for all the typos and weird formatting. FF is just really frustrating when it comes to importing things. It moves a lotta junk around.)
1. Down the Rabbit Hole

"Get up! Human, wake up!" The unfamiliar voice that drags me from my stupor is raspy and colored with panic.

Blearily, I peel my eyes open. "What?" I groan, trying to focus enough to see more than a blurry grey mush.

"Yes, you're awake! Look, I need you to tell me what this glowing shit is. These guys won't give me jack–," the voice, cut off by a kick to the stomach, belongs to a massive woman with curling horns capped in metal and dressed in mercenary's garb. That's all well and good and weird as shit, but the thing that draws my eye is the green glow emanating from her left hand. Her teeth are clenched, trying to keep herself from crying out in pain.This is fucking Dragon Age: Inquisition, that's the fucking Anchor, and it's attached to fucking Adaar.

I move to help her, and that's when I notice the thick rope securely binding my wrists together. "Who's the kinky bastard that thought this up?"

That wins a snort from the qunari.

"Silence, both of you. We await the Nightingale and Seeker Pentaghast's arrival," a younger man brandishes his blade first at me, then at Adaar. I don't shrink back from it, instead leveling an irritated look at its wielder. The lack of fear in my eyes only seems to increase his own.It makes more sense for Cassandra to take longer, I suppose. It's not as if she and Leliana would be lurking around outside, timing their entrance for when the Inquisitor wakes up.

"Oh, please, if you planned to kill us we'd be dead. Dungeons are for people wanted alive, at least until their purpose is fulfilled," Adaar narrows her eyes at the armored man. "You are not the only one who seeks answers. I do not plan on running, but I trust you will permit me to speak to my fellow prisoner." The Tal-Vashoth turns to me, "I am Kaaras Adaar. What are you called, human?"

I blink. "Oh. Rosalind. You can call me Ross, I guess. Everybody else does."

"Ross, then. Do you remember anything at all about how we got here? Any reason we're here together, considering we've never met before?"

I can't exactly say that the last thing I remember is sitting in front of a textbook in the middle of the night wishing I wasn't immune to the effects of caffeine.I decide to go with what's safe. "No, not particularly. I remember the Conclave,"technically true, "but I have absolutely no idea how I got here."Also true.

"It is the same for me," Kaaras frowns. "Though I can recall a strange dream–"

"Well that's right convenient, innit?" a pasty faced guard spits at my feet. His grin is marred by crooked yellow teeth. "The two bitches we found in the rubble of the fuckin' Conclave can't remember–"

Cassandra slams open the door, cutting off the buffoon before he can finish. Leliana trails in behind her. Kaaras tracks them warily, clearly thinking about what Pudgy McGee has let slip.The rubble of the Conclave. The Anchor flares up again, drawing a pained cry from her lips.

Cassandra circles around us, scowling. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," she snarls. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you two."

"You think we're responsible," Kaaras leans forward, squinting through the hazy torchlight.

"Explain this," Cassandra hisses, gripping Kaaras' left arm. The Anchor pops angrily.

"I can't," Kaaras mutters.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I don't know what that is, or how it got there," Kaaras insists, squaring her shoulders.

Lunging forward, Cassandra grips a fistful of the qunari's tunic. "You're lying!"

"We need her, Cassandra," Leliana murmurs, pulling the Seeker away.

"And you?" Cassandra growls. I can't help but shrink back from the ferocity of her expression. "Did you have something to do with this, prisoner?"

I shake my head. "No. I am sorry that I cannot be the easy answer to your questions, but I would help uncover the truth if you would let me."

Leliana sighs, addressing both Kaaras and I. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Kaaras scrunches her eyebrows together, concentrating. "I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then... a woman?"

"A woman?" Leliana crosses her arms, incredulous.

"She reached out to me. I…" Kaaras trails off, at a loss for words.

"And what can you recall?" The spymaster's mouth twists as she looks at me. Closing my eyes, I think back to the timespan after falling asleep at my desk. It's slippery to latch onto, but eventually a snippet of conversation filters into my brain.

My, my, aren't you a fine specimen? A bright little spirit, both adventurer and philosopher. Such great potential. Yes, I think you will do quite nicely.

What. In. The. Actual. Fuck. That isn't the normal voice inside my head. Right?

No. We sound nothing alike. Honestly, I'm irked that you even have to ask. That is very clearly male.

Realizing that I have yet to answer Leliana, I piece together a reply, "I remember a voice. I think it belonged to a man."

"A man?" Leliana presses, even more skeptical. "Did you know him? What did he say?"

"No," I shake my head. 'He said I had 'great potential' for something. I don't know what."

Cassandra grips Leliana's arm, pulling her away from Kaaras and I. "Go to the forward camp with her, Leliana. I will take the qunari to the rift."

"I'm not going with you?" I ask Cassandra.This is new.Leliana kneels at my feet, cutting through my bindings with ease. Alarmed at the discoloration of my wrists, I do my best to rub some feeling back into them.

"I see no reason for you to accompany us. You are not the one with the mark."

That actually makes sense.

"Let us go," Leliana gestures for me to follow.

I shrug, intrigued at the prospect of going off-script so soon, "guess I'll see you on the other side, Kaaras."

"You'd better!" She calls. Then the door shuts between us, and suddenly I am in a freezing village of people who hate me with only a trained assassin for company.

I am so dead.


	2. Let's Slay Some Demons

Before leaving Haven, Leliana asks what sort of weapons I would prefer.

The bow, the quiver, and the daggers. Take those.

What? Why?

Just do it. Trust me.

Although I am wary of this new voice in my head, I do as it suggests. She equips me without fuss. This isverydifferent from Cassandra's behavior.

"Why are you even allowing me to have weapons?" I wonder, testing the draw on the bow. It's simple, sturdy, and after a few tries I can get a nocked arrow to my cheek in less than four seconds. Everything I could ask for from a stock weapon.

Leliana glances at me from the corner of her eye. "I'd rather not have to focus on defending you all the way to the Temple. Besides," she continues, "if it turns out that you are not as honest as I would care for, I will put an arrow in your back faster than you can blink."

"Fair enough," I agree. "Although, I, um, I don't know how much help I'll be in battle."

For the time being, you shall be more than competent. The trial period has not yet worn off.

Okay, bud. What the actual fuck.

Leliana fills me in on the Breach, the mark, demons, how Kaaras and I reportedly fell out of the Fade. I find my eyes pulled to the massive green vortex in the sky quite often. Something about it makes my hair stand on end, both physically and metaphorically. Between that and the sight of so much snow in one place, I'm barely listening to Leliana at all.

My attire looks about the Thedosian equivalent of my fadedJawst-shirt and sweatpants, comprised of a plain grey tunic, fraying breeches, and worn boots. I feel every gust of wind as though it was hitting my bare skin; sharp stones on the path poke painfully into the thin soles of my boots.I'm from the Gulf Coast, dammit. Throw me in a hot mosquito-infested marshland and I'd live, albeit unpleasantly. I'm not built to take the fucking Frostback Mountains.

"There are wraiths up ahead," Leliana warns, silently indicating that we split up. I nod, crunching through snow to kneel behind an upturned wagon. Between us, two vaguely skeletal entities drift aimlessly.I nock an arrow with numb fingers, aiming for the wraith closest to me. Leliana does the same.

I let my arrow fly, but it skims past the thing and lands a few feet to the right.

Higher, and more to the left. Draw as far as you're able.

Cursing, I adjust my aim and hit the spirit in the back. It turns, conjuring a ball of energy. I get two more arrows in before the orb hits me. I double over, overcome with nausea. When I look up, the wraith is gone, and I see one of Leliana's arrows embedded in the snow amongst mine.

"Thank you," I mutter toward the voice in my head.It's been a long while since my last archery class.I'm more athletic than I look. In childhood, I learned how to move so as to never fully flatten my feet against the ground, mostly utilizing the heels and balls of my feet to creep silently over creaky floorboards. Yoga, swimming, cardio, and strength training have been a part of my weekly routine for a few years now thanks to the college fitness center, so I'm not completely out of my league just yet.

"When confronted with a wraith, you can either shoot faster, shoot truer, or learn to take a hit," Leliana advises, wiping ectoplasm from the tip of an arrow.

I nod, turning the advice over in my head. Now that I know what to expect from one, they shouldn't betoomuch of a problem in the future.

"We are nearly to the forward camp." Leliana informs me, setting a swifter pace.

"Anything particularly vexing we should anticipate?" I ask, exhaling thick white plumes.

"Other than demons? I shouldn't think so," she answers blandly.

I hum in acknowledgement, continuing to run in silence.What a strange world this is, where that is a perfectly normal thing to say.As we near the camp, the path grows more and more congested with the mangled and burned bodies of men, women, and children. I see a Chantry member performing a last rite ceremony over the carcass of a little girl. Her chest is clawed open, intestines spilling red onto the snow.

The odor of rotting flesh, warm and pungent, seeps into my consciousness until it's all I can process. I slide to my knees, throwing up a stomach full of bile.

"First time seeing dead?" Leliana's voice is faintly sympathetic.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak at the moment. There'll be a lot of dead. A lot of wounded. Just go cold. Block it out. Pretend they're organisms on a practical pinned in… unique positions.

This is so very real. Are you sure we're dreaming?

We have to be. It's the only explanation that makes sense, right?

...right.

The shade appears out of nowhere, spindly arms already raised to deliver what should've been a devastating blow. Reflexes I have no right possessing take over. I have no time to nock an arrow. Dropping my bow and lunging to the side, I feel the thing's claws barely skim past my leg.

There, in between those armored plates of skin. Then again, where its neck meets it's spine. Block everything else out but this. Go. Now.

I plunge a dagger into its side, the other into its upper back, and pull myself on top of it. Grunting, I sink both knives into its neck, bracing myself as it careens to the ground. The impact knocks the wind out of me.

Voice. You're still freaking me the hell out, I hope you realize that.

Hush. My job is to keep you alive for now. You can trust me.

I don't.

But you will follow my direction?

So long as it is reasonable, sure. I will admit that if not for you I'd probably be demon chow right about now.

I'll count my blessings.

Picking myself up, I sheathe my blades, sling the bow over my shoulder, and rejoin Leliana. We continue like that for a good distance. I In no time at all, we're at the forward camp. "Open the gate!"

"Yes, Sister!" A muffled cry comes from behind the wall. Slowly, the massive doors creak open and we pass through. Several soldiers greet Leliana but draw back when their eyes meet mine. They fall to muttering amongst themselves.

"No, Sister Leliana would never allow the bitch that killed the Divine to-"

"But why else would an armed civilian be out here?"

"Thatisher! Jeremy was part of the patrol that found them and he said-"

"Hey, is it just me or, ignoring the sweat and blood, is she not one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen?"

"Nicholas, you'd fuck anything with an ass and tits. Maybe leave the Divine-killer alone, eh?"

Divine-killer. I block most of it out after that, lifting my chin and straightening my spine.I have done nothing wrong.The gate shuts with an ominous boom. It's a struggle to tamp down on the sensation of being penned in, despite the open mountain air.

Leliana stiffens, muttering, "Chancellor Roderick." I follow her line of sight to find the chancellor in the midst of a heated argument with a soldier.Really, when is the man ever not arguing?He dismisses the soldier with a wave of his hand upon seeing Leliana and I, sour face twisting into a sneer.

"Leliana, whyexactlyis the prisoner unbound and armed to the teeth?" Roderick hisses. "You there, come here," he gestures at a couple of disgruntled soldiers. "Disarm her, restrain her, and prepare to send her to Val Royeaux for execution."

"Disregard that order," Leliana says firmly. Her tone allows for no disobedience.

"How can you ask that of them?" I cock an eyebrow at the Chantry official, aware of the two men's eyes darting nervously between Roderick, Leliana, and myself.Their loyalties are split. I have to be delicate, so no cussing Roderick out."Instead of actively attempting to sort out pieces of the truth, which I can practicallyassureyou will be found at the Temple, you would haul me and Kaaras to Val Royeaux in a bid for power over a realm that would be both chaotic and short-lived." His spluttering and attempts to defend himself are somewhat amusing.

I narrow my eyes in predatory fashion. "Roderick, I truly believe that you mean well. Have faith in your Maker. He has not forsaken you, any of you," I let my gaze linger on each of them in turn, though perhaps longest on Leliana. "Whether this is to test loyalties between friends, unify different people to a single cause, or simply test his children's level of devotion to him, this must be a part of his plan, unless you would suggest thatanythingmight be beyond the Maker's dominion."What a sight: an atheistic Earthling preaching to Chantry members about the wonders of Andrastianism.

"Now is not the time to abandon hope," I emphasize this to the two soldiers, "not when we are so very close to the root of the problem. This battle is not yet over."Roderick can't denounce his faith in front of Leliana and three other witnesses if he hopes to retain his clout in the Chantry. Not that there is much of a Chantry to have clout in at the moment.

Sliding my quiver off my shoulder and slowly setting my other weapons on the cobblestones beneath by my feet, I raise my arms in surrender. "I've seen the bodies of countless men, women, and children out there, so if you truly believe I would be better served twiddling my thumbs in the safety of confinement rather than fighting to avenge those who have fallen, by all means, take me away." The soldiers' jaws clench, and I know they've made their decision.

Chancellor Roderick catches onto this as well. He relents, scowling, "Just get out of my sight for the time being, prisoner." With Leliana's assent, I retrieve my weapons, leaving the Chancellor and the Sister to themselves. Leliana can figure her way around a verbal minefield well enough.

"Excuse me," I approach a burly man mending a hole in a pair of trousers. He's a wall of muscle with an auburn beard and warm brown eyes. "Is there any elfroot potion to spare? I think I'll need it."Asking for a cloak or decent pair of boots might be pushing it.

"As will many soldiers returning from the field of battle," the man frowns. His accent is strange, Scandinavian I think. I don't think I've ever heard it on a Thedosian character before. "Still, I suppose youwillbe on the field of battle. Here," he escorts me to a supply crate and fishes out a belt with eight potion pouches, a few bags, and space for my dagger sheaths to hang. I eagerly wrap it around my waist, discarding my old one. "I will give you two," he decides, shoving flasks of murky red liquid into my arms. "Put them to good use."

"Thank you, Serah…" I raise my eyebrows expectantly.

"Olsen," he supplies.

"Olsen," I repeat, half-smiling at the large man. He seems like a decent fellow, even while absentmindedly running a thumb over the hilt of his sword. "Where are you from, if I may ask?"

"The Anderfels," Olsen puffs out his chest proudly. "Hossberg, more specifically." Meeting my small smile with a bemused one of his own. "You did not kill the Divine," he states.

"No, I did not," I say, more serious. "What makes you come to that conclusion?"

"I know evil, and though it comes in all shapes and sizes, it is not like you, woman," he looks down his crooked nose at me. "My country is far from here. The Divine is not as close to us as it is to these people. I have lost no family, no friends, and so my eyes and my heart are not blinded with guilt. Others will see soon enough."

I bow my head respectfully, "That means a great deal to me. I intend to prove my innocence by the end of today."

Yeah, and what happens if your voice isn't in that weird echo thing in the Temple? It's only a snippet of what happened.

Then that means I'm doubly innocent because I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

You know that without being able to visually or audibly confirm or deny your presence there, that's no evidence at all.

Suddenly, there's shouting from outside the gate. Demons screech and howl in hideous fashion. Olsen unsheathes his sword and I slip an arrow from my quiver, just in case something happens and they get through.A rift must have opened there after we arrived.

This precaution proves unnecessary, as when the gates are opened it is only Cassandra, Varric, Kaaras, and the Dread Wolf himself. I won't lie, a warm shiver races down my spine when I lay eyes on him. Three years of borderline obsession with formulating arguments against the stupid egg and his stupid plan will do that to a girl. Luckily, his attention is fixed firmly on the Anchor. I duck my head, waiting for the icy air to cool my burning cheeks and cursing myself for being a complete and utter e on, you got this. You're in control. Seven years of theatre, babe. Plant your feet, ground yourself, roll your shoulders back, and you're good to go.

Now that I can see Kaaras properly, I feel my jaw go partially slack. Fully upright, she's about three feet taller than I am with lavender skin and dark horns that sweep majestically over her skull. Stark white hair is tied in a tight braids down to the nape of her neck. Slung over her back resides a massive greatsword.Two-handed qunari warrior? She'll give Bull a run for his money.

Quietly slipping between Solas and Varric, I take up a position at Kaaras' right arm. She grants me a weary nod, and I note the sheen of sweat upon her brow. Roderick and Cassandra's back and forth drags me back to the present. Instead of Roderick's demands to haul Kaaras back to Val Royeaux, it is really only a discussion about which path to take to the Temple.

"You won't survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers," Roderick insists.

"We must get to the Temple. It's the quickest route," Cassandra stands her ground.

"But not the safest," Leliana cuts in.Finally, we're back on-script."Our forces can charge as a distraction, while we go through the mountains."

"We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky."

"Listen to me. Abandon this now, before more lives are lost," Roderick attempts to reason with them.

Just then, the Breach rumbles, and the swirling clouds around it become darker and thicker. The Anchor crackles with bright energy. Kaaras jerks her wrist away from her body, wincing.

"What do you think we should do?" Cassandra consults the Vashoth.

Kaaras looks to me and back at Cassandra in disbelief, raising her eyebrows. "Nowyou're asking me what I think?"

"You have the mark," Solas points out.

Yes, because having a glowy hand is the best foundation for a stable power hierarchy.

"And you are the one we must keep alive," Cassandra steps forward. "Since we cannot agree on our own…" she trails off.

Kaaras scowls, looking down at me. "What do you think? I happen to like the idea of charging into the heat of battle and cutting down a horde of demons, but a second opinion would be nice."

Pretending to think carefully about these choices as though I hadn't thought through them at least thirty four times previously, I say, "The mountain path would be a better option. You said there were scouts lost in the area, Cassandra; perhaps they are still up there. I think that may be more worthwhile. Besides, I have no doubt we will encounter our fair share of demons in that direction."

"Sounds good to me," Kaaras agrees, clapping me roughly on the shoulder.

Wordlessly accepting our decision, Cassandra turns to the Left Hand of the Divine. "Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone."

"On your head be the consequences, Seeker," Roderick murmurs forebodingly. The Seeker in question ignores him, head held high, intent on moving forward. I find myself falling into step behind her and Kaaras without realizing it.

Hey, Voice. You said something about a trial period?

You have until the battle with the Pride demon. I can help you survive in combat until then. Afterward, you are on your own, so I suggest that you pay attention.

Lucky for you, I'm a fast learner.


	3. The Insufferable Smartass

A human woman stumbles past myself and the storyteller, greasy brown hair falling limply to her shoulders. I vaguely recognize her as the other prisoner. She was not my main concern. A bow and quiver are strapped to her back and a pair of blades hang from around her waist. She is silent for the most part, until the qunari bearing my magic asks for her opinion on what route we should take regarding the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She delivers a short explanation, taken seriously despite her relatively minimal role in this matter, and then we are journeying onwards. My thoughts remain mostly occupied with the Breach, yet another of my blunders, looming over the mountain in spectacular fashion.

"Tch," the human woman hisses, hurriedly jumping out of the snow and back onto the cobblestones. The noise draws me away from my pondering and to her crumbling bootsoles. Now that it occurs to me, nearly every article of her clothing is in a state of disrepair, extremely impractical for this climate. Her face is pale, eyelashes coated in a film of frost, and her jaw is clenched in an effort to prevent her teeth from chattering. "Oh, fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she growls, trying in vain to rub warmth into alarmingly crimson fingers.

What is a chainsaw? It hardly sounds pleasant, especially for the purpose of… well.

The others are already several paces ahead, so I suppose this is my chance to establish my role as the helpful apostate. "Allow me," I say, focusing a warming spell through my staff. "That should keep the cold at bay for the most part." I am satisfied with the rapid return of color to the woman's cheeks. Nearly too much color. Perhaps she is feverish.

"Hello," she gulps, wearing an expression uncomfortably close to recognition.That is impossible."I mean, thank you." She blanches suddenly, fully processing the lowlyelfwho has cast a spell on her. "Will this be too big a drain on your mana? I wouldn't want to exhaust you what with all the fighting. You could get hurt, or worse-"

"I will be fine," I assure her, cutting the woman off.That is her main concern?"This requires little energy to maintain."Though more than I would care to admit. Before the Veil I could have warmed an entire army without blinking."We should return to the others."

"Probably," she agrees, beginning to trudge through the snow. "We wouldn't want them to figure out your sinister plot to prevent frostbite."

A small snort escapes me. "No, indeed."

Without the icy air to slow her down, she marches on at an invigorated pace. "I know Kaaras and I know Cassandra, but I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your names," the woman addresses myself and the dwarf.

"Of course! How could it have slipped my mind?" the dwarf exclaims, dramatically clutching at his heart. "Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong."

"Isn't that the same introduction you gave me?" the qunari asks dryly.

"No idea what you're talking about, Reaver," the dwarf says, conspicuously looking away.

"Reaver? Is this because of the greatsword?" The qunari raps the hilt of said weapon, bemused.

"Yep," Varric beams, proud of his newest nickname.

"My name is Solas," I tell the human woman, offering a small smile.

"Solas," she hums, adding a more lyrical quality to the word than anyshemlenhas the right to possess.

I subtly clear my throat. "Precisely. And you are?"

The woman grins, steely blue eyes glinting with mischief. "An insufferable smart-ass. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"That's an interesting name. What country are you from?" Varric continues the jest.

"Why, I am from the far off land of Nunya," the woman makes a grand sweeping gesture skyward, as if her homeland resides in the stars.

"Nunya?" the dwarf raises his eyebrows, smirking.

"As in it's Nunya business, so shove off," she finishes with a grin.

Varric laughs. "That's a good one. Mind if I use it sometime?"

"It's not mine to give," the woman waves her hands dismissively. "Name's Ross, by the way."

Ross. Quick. Harsh. Inelegant. Quite fitting to be the name of ashemlen.

"That's one sweet crossbow you got there,"Rosseyes Varric's weapon appreciatively.

"Biancaisa beauty, isn't she? Fully automated, if you can believe it, so I don't have to reload between every bolt. She comes in handy against darkspawn, nugs, and demons alike."

"Sounds like you're lovesick," Ross hums, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"That I am," Varric agrees, sounding uncharacteristically wistful.

The qunari sighs at the ramshackle wooden structure ahead of us. "Oh. Ladders. Joy." I slip my staff into the strap tied across my torso in preparation for the climb.

Exiting the mining complex, we are met with scouts struggling to defeat a group of corrupted spirits. The remnants of past fighting color the snow with black and red spatters. The Seeker is the first to draw her blade, charging headlong into the fray. My barrier encircles those caught in the melee.

I find my eye frequently drawn to the woman known as Ross. Her blades wildly lash out as she throws herself between opponents. I send an ice bolt at a terror demon poised to swipe at her with its claws. It screeches in frustration, instead scratching at its own blinded eyes before keeling over, having been decapitated by the mark-wielder's greatsword.

As the last corrupted spirit falls, the horned woman raises her marked hand, connecting with the rift and pulling it shut.

"You are becoming quite proficient at this," I commend, almost meaning it.

She accepts the empty praise, shifting away from me to confer with the Seeker and the leader of the scouts. The conversation is short, ending with those still able to walk escorting their wounded comrades away.

We depart in the opposite direction at a swift jog down paths boarded with wooden slats. "So," Varric begins, "holes in the Fade don't just…accidentally happen, right?"

"If enough magic is brought to bear, itispossible," I hedge, not specifying how it might be accomplished.

"But there are easier ways to make things explode," the dwarf continues.

Smirking wryly, the qunari points out, "Like gaatlok."

"That is true," I agree.

"We will considerhowthis happened once the immediate danger is past," Cassandra announces, putting an end to that line of questioning.

In a matter of minutes, we reach an area where massive crags of rock, glowing subtly green, form a wall that towers over everything in the vicinity. "The Temple of Sacred Ashes," I murmur.

"What's left of it," Varric says, tone as dry as the many bones scattered nearby.

"That is where you came out of the Fade and our soldiers found you," Cassandra points at a mound of rubble. The party grimly surveys the area. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

Hurrying now more than ever, we pass torches still eerily lit and leap from crumbling ledges. A layer of ash coats my tongue. The air thrums with energy.

The smell of death lingers on the wind.


	4. A Spirited Battle

Moving around a jagged wall of rock, we come into full view of the Breach, in all its wrongness.

"The Breach is alongway up," Varric drawls, quite unnecessarily.

Many feet pound into the soil behind us. The redheaded Chantry sister jogs forward. "You're here! Thank the Maker!"

"Leliana," Cassandra turns, "have your men take up positions around the Temple."

The Sister nods, signalling her people to move out.

"Seal this rift, and you may seal the Breach," I supply.It is hard to say if this will work.

A red glow up ahead attracts the attention of us all. While the Breach feels wrong in its way, this mineral feels…twistedsomehow. Like a song sung both backward and out of tune.

"You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker?" Varric scowls, looking genuinely anxious.

"I see it, Varric."

"But what's itdoinghere?" the dwarf growls, grip tightening on his beloved crossbow.

"Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupted it," I keep my tone purely speculative.This was not what I intended.

When does anything ever happen as I intend it to?

"It's evil," Varric turns away, back stiff. "Whatever you do, don't touch it."

"Keep the sacrifices still," a voice booms, dragging all of our attention to the Breach.

"Someone, help me!" The woman who pleads has an Orlesian accent.

"That is Divine Justinia's voice!" Cassandra cries, looking to the qunari for answers. She has none.

Ross's jaw clenches. Her eyes narrow, nostrils flare, nimble fingers slip blades out of sheaths.Animalistic. Truly.

We race down a flight of stone steps. The qunari is ahead of the rest, and the first to drop to the dark gravel below.

"Someone, help me!" the echo repeats.

It is Ross who answers, voice rebounding off the crags of rock. "Don't worry, ma'am, any moment now-" her consolations morph into muffled shrieking.

"What's going on here?" It is the qunari's voice, just as gravelly as the earth we now stand on. The rift and the mark crackle in unison, humming with power.

"Those wereyourvoices. Most Holy called out to you, but-" the Breach rumbles, erupting with bright white light.

The silhouette I recognize as Corypheus and the ghostly form of Divine Justinia inhabit the space above us. She is restrained by magical means, floating several paces above the ground. "What's going on here?" the qunari barges into the room, outraged.

Ross kneels, face contorted in agony. Her cheeks are red, swollen, and tracked with tears. Magical bonds tighten around her torso, lashing her in place. Electricity crackles over her skin. A modified barrier over her mouth prevents her screams from being heard.

"Run while you can!" the Divine cries. "Warn them!"

"Another intruder," Corypheus' voice is cold, calculating. "This one is not useful to me. Kill the qunari. Now!" With another flash, the vision is gone.

"You were there!" The Seeker rounds on Ross and Kaaras, though not in anger.The Seeker of Truth seeks the truth."Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

"I don't remember!" Kaaras throws up her arms, frustrated.

"What do you know?" Cassandra's tone turns pleading, but Ross is not looking at her. Instead, she experimentally touches a place on her tunic. Wincing, she sharply retracts her hand.

"I have no idea how I came to be there, Cassandra, but I think we can safely assume that what we just saw was true," Ross gingerly pulls the hem of her tunic away from her belly, revealing swollen red welts spanning across her skin.

Varric whistles sympathetically, "Shit."

"I am sorry," Cassandra grimaces. "I did not know."

"I guess I'd just thought it was expected to be in this much pain after the Conclave and being physically in the Fade. It never really occurred to me that...well." With a deep breath, she replaces the fabric of her tunic, hiding the burns from view.

Baring her teeth at the Breach, the qunari rolls her shoulders back. "We'll fix this. I plan on it."

It is heartening to see such determination. This will be all the easier.I think, burrowing the tip of my staff into the dirt. "The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not yet sealed, but itisclosed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons. Stand ready!" The Seeker orders, settling into a more defensive position. Sighing, Ross whirls, sprinting to a safe distance.Verysafe.What does she believe we will have to face?Uneasy, I grip my staff more tightly.

"Go, Kaaras!" The human woman shrieks, nocking an arrow. The qunari smirks, forming the link between mark and rift. Energy sparks and pulsates along the bridge. The rift rips open.

For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the pure Fade, but that is overshadowed by the massive grey horned form that materializes before us. Its lips curl back, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. In each hand it drags a lightning whip. When it hits the ground, its chuckle is low and bone-chilling.Pride.It is ancient. This is no spirit of Wisdom turned by the Breach; this has been corrupted for many years. The knowledge brings some small modicum of comfort.

Before it is even fully upright, the shaft of an arrow protrudes from one of its eyes. I do not have to look to know it came from Ross's bow. "Archers, attack! Warriors, pull aggro!"Aggro?"Keep its attention on you! Get it away from the rift!"

For a moment, nothing happens. Pride screeches, drawing back a whip to strike theshemlen, who looks so very small in comparison. I focus through my staff, prepared to cast a barrier over her. "Now!" Cassandra commands, raising her blade. Arrows fly at the creature, but it simply swats them out of the way, as one might a swarm of gnats.

Several men rush Pride, roaring battle-cries. "Not you, Kaaras," Ross shouts over the clash of steel. "Disrupt the rift first!"

"Aargh!" The qunari sinks her blade into the earth, raising her marked hand and connecting with the rift. When she lets go, Pride shrieks, pained, and crashes to one knee.How could she have anticipated that?

"Have at it!" Ross flashes a quick grin over a shoulder, already sprinting toward the prone form of the creature.

"Yes!" Kaaras whoops, running with her blade held high over her horned head. Ross reaches it first, leaping on top of an arm and using her momentum to swing up to its head. In rapid succession, she sinks her daggers beneath armored plates into its skull. Kaaras uses her greatsword to cleave at its limbs, hacking halfway through a leg before the thing rises to its feet once more.

I cast a barrier over as many fighters as possible. Twirling my staff, I send bolts of fire and ice, turning the ground beneath it into elemental chaos. Around Pride, the air crackles. Electricity hums overhead, giving the air a metallic tang. "Retreat!" Ross warns those still fighting, clinging onto a massive horn for her life. Pride lashes out mercilessly with its whip. Those that cannot move away in time are thrown back, armor smoldering. "Kaaras, get back to the rift! You have to keep disrupting it for this to work… Kaaras!"

The qunari lays face-first in the dirt at Pride's feet, mark sputtering feebly on her hand. She had heard the woman's warning too late, and had sustained the worst damage of anyone caught in Pride's strike. "Solas, Varric, Leliana, archers, draw the demon away from the mark-wielder! Cassandra, warriors, keep the bastard occupied!"

Between casting flashy barrages of flame to draw Pride away, I spot Ross kneeling over Kaaras, shaking her shoulders.What is she doing? I am soon swept away into the rhythm of battle, only occasionally able to spare glances at her. Barrier, fireball, barrier, Ross pours an elfroot potion down the qunari's throat, ice bolt, barrier, inferno, until finally Ross helps Kaaras to her feet. She wastes no time before disrupting the rift once more.

"She's something, huh?" Varric shouts to be heard over the din. "I thought Reaver was a goner for sure, and then we'd all be dead."

The battle drags on.

Potions are rapidly depleted. Soldiers fall. Ross attempts to save as many as she can. I do not know how often she succeeds. "Fenedhis lasa!," I curse, fade stepping away from a shade whose claws had come too close for comfort. I find myself near Ross. Her shirt is bloodied, a large bruise beginning to swell across her cheek, yet she still grins at me. "You good, bud?"

"Bud?" I smirk, sending a bolt of ice at a shade behind her.

"Yep!" She fires an arrow past my head.

"I am well, thank you," Grunting, I slam my staff down to summon a barrier around the mark-wielder.

"See, it's the strangest thing, but I've been noticing some freak weather lately. The sky's gone green, and the lightning around here isinsane." She ducks, plunging a dagger into the lower region of a wraith.

"Strange," my lips find themselves tugging upward, "I have not noticed anything out of the ordinary."

"Yeah well-" her clear blue eyes round in horror, latched onto something behind me. Before I can react, she has lunged forward, slamming me into the dirt as lightning skims past where our heads would have been. "Barrier," she hisses. I do as she asks, certainly not distracted by her panting breath, warm against my neck.It has been a long while since anyone was this close.

She rolls to her feet in one smooth movement, focus completely on Pride. I follow suit, sliding neatly away from her. The corrupt spirit is nearing its end. Leliana leads her archers in shooting volley after volley of arrows. Cassandra commands strikes and strategic retreats against it. Finally, Kaaras thrusts her greatsword clean through its neck with a mighty shout. A hoarse cheer goes up amongst the soldiers.They only see another monster felled.

The qunari staggers toward the rift, forging the tether between the mark and the opening in the Fade. She gives all of her remaining power to this one act, pulling and pulling until the rift sews shut completely.

Deed done, the mark-wielder promptly slumps to the ground, unconscious.

I look up, feeling a nauseating twist in my stomach. The Breach is still there, though it is stabilized. I will need to either stay or run and the decision must be made soon. If I stay, I am more likely to regain control of the orb. However, I will also be under more scrutiny than I would care to face. If I run, I have few agents, but I would have the freedom to move as freely as this chaotic land will allow.

"Hey, Solas?" Theshemlenwaves to get my attention.

"Yes?" I raise a brow, irritated at having my thoughts interrupted.

She tilts her head, smiling reassuringly. "You know, we'll definitely seal the Breach. Just stick around. You'll see."

"What makes you believe that?" I question, skeptical.

"Solas," she begins, "there's one thing you should realize. People as a whole can be petty, stupid, and power-hungry, but when you give them a cause to unite under, they'll change the world."

I exhale softly. "Is that changenecessarilyfor the better?"

The woman takes some care in answering. "In this case, I fervently believe so. The Breach is big, yeah, but I've a feeling that it's going to lead to somethingmuchbigger."

"This does nothing to assuage my worry."

"Just watch,mi huevo triste.It will not be quite as bad as you expect."


	5. Just Because the Herald's Passed Out

I take a moment to be alone, slumping in the ashes of the ruined temple in order to stop the shaking in my legs. I don't cry, just sit and think for a little while and take deep breaths.One, I just fought a fucking Pride demon.Two, however improvised it may have been, I was a brief part of the magister's plan. That may have to be addressed at some point depending on the length of this dream.

Look on the bright side: at least no one can say you were on Corypheus' side, right?

I get up, dust myself off, and move to help the other soldiers. Getting Kaaras and the otherwise incapacitated people down the mountain is a big ol' barrel of fun, especially considering my body is beaten beyond belief and my mind is still swirling with the notion that I wasliterally going to be sacrificed by Corypheus. Why is no one else concerned about this?

I suggest lashing spare tent canvas to wooden beams in order to fashion stretchers. While exhausting, we can at least use the makeshift stretchers to transport even more injured down to Haven. The village has a good twenty five more buildings than featured in-game. I wonder if it gained popularity when Brother Genitivi spread the word about the Sacred Ashes. After all, the Hero of Ferelden would've killed all the cult members in the village when they came through.Or maybe those were just my Heroes.

There are tents and coverings set up outside the gate. I believe it's meant to be a temporary infirmary until we can get everyone properly situated. Adan is shouting commands left and right. I suppose that means Kaaras is fine. Scouts, soldiers, and civilians wishing to help are building firepits, clearing away snow, searching for elfroot, and laying out bedrolls.

If they're helping, I can, too.

There are approximately fifty wounded deemed able to survive the trip down the mountain. Those that are suffering mostly from the cold are wrapped with furs and moved into homes with large hearths. Flissa enlists several women in brewing large cauldrons of broth to hand out and I ask if she can spare any honey for me.

"Honey?" The barkeep furrows her brow, baffled. "What do ya need tha' for?"

"Please. It'll help with healing."It's basically at home Neosporin, but I don't know how to explain antimicrobial properties to people without sounding like an asylum escapee.

I order all dirty bandages, rags, and tools to be boiled and dried before they even touch an injury. A woman brings me a basket of plain soaps and I thank her profusely.

"Why boil 'em? It's not like we're eatin' 'em!" A large man guffaws, poised to wrap a filthy scrap of fabric around a soldier's bloodied leg and call it a day. It's a nasty injury: a jagged gash raking deeply from upper thigh to just above her knee cap. There's a rotten odor to it, one that makes me want to gag.

"That's an open wound," I puff up indignantly, snatching the cloth from his hand. "I know it's cold out, but foreign matter could still infect it!"

"She's dyin'! We don' have time for blabberin'!"

Glaring at the larger man, the soldier insists, "It barely hurts! The demon nicked me is all." Her claim might be believed were it not for her white-knuckled fists and forced breathing.

"The only way she's dying is if you use that on her leg or she bleeds out from this pointless arguing," I grit out, mentally banging my head against a wall.They won't understand even basic medical terminology."Have you ever seen an injury that seemed like it was rotting, oozing, or the skin around it turned red and swollen? That's infection. If it's serious, it could require surgery."

"Am I going to lose the leg, miss?" The soldier's eyes glaze over at the realization, breaths growing even more rapid. "No. No, I can't."

"You're not going to lose the leg," I say sternly.

Fuck, I hope this works."You, man, use that to apply pressure right here. Make sure it's tight," I direct, guiding him in tying off the leg so as not to completely prevent circulation. "I think the demon grazed the femoral vein, so it's not as urgent as arterial, but it's still an emergency."They must've given her an elfroot potion to form a clot here and something recently reopened it. Otherwise, she would've bled out coming down the mountain."What's your name?" I ask, making sure that the leg is elevated before flitting about in search of clean bandages.

"Ralph," the big man grunts, keeping a firm grip on the bloody leg in front of him.

"Not who I meant," I roll my eyes, digging through a nearby crate. "The one with the gaping leg wound."

Chuckling weakly, the raven-haired woman replies, "Erica."

I raise an eyebrow at her from across the tent. "You don't look too good. When was the last time you slept?"

The soldier grimaces, "I slept the night the Breach appeared in the sky."

"Erica," I hum. "That was three days ago. After this is over, I'm ordering you to get at least eight hours of rest. I don't give a flying fuck what Cullen may want from you."

"Yes, ser," she huffs, nearly smiling.

Jackpot! Clean cotton!

"You're going to be fine. Ralph there is doing a wonderful job," I reassure her, watching the same man scratch his ass.Right, he's not going anywhere near an open injury.Darting elsewhere in the camp, I snatch up three cakes of soap, two elfroot potions, a rag, and a tin of boiled water. Using these materials, I attempt to purge the injury of dried blood, dirt, cloth fibers, and demonic residue. "I'm going to need you to drink this, Erica." She takes the potion with shaking hands, quickly gulping it down.

"Ralph, slowly untie that." He does so, and I watch the blood flow return to normalcy before solidifying in a potion-induced clot.

Already, the gash looks a little better.

"You asked for…honey?" A stocky blonde woman holds out a jar and ladle to me.

Relieved, I snatch the container from her grasp. "Thank you!" Removing the lid, I spoon a little honey onto the cotton and begin to wrap it around the gash.

Ralph watches on in disbelief. "You wouldn't let me use somethin' with a bit o' dirt on it, but now you're smearin' honey all o'er her leg like it's a smoked ham?"

"Whatareyou doing?" Erica cocks her head inquisitively. Her black hair is a sweaty tangled mess, bags underneath dark eyes, but overall she seems less pained.

"Honey acts as a barrier for things that can cause infection while keeping the injured area moist," I explain, calmer now. "Stay off that leg for a little while so you don't reopen the wound. I think you're pretty much set to be moved into the village."

"Thank you, ser," Erica settles back on her bedroll with a sigh.

"Don't thank me yet," I say, completely serious. "Wait until you've made a full recovery, please."

"Right you are," Ralph grunts, waving a stretcher over. He and another soldier help lift Erica onto it.

From then on, it's mostly a blur. I move from person to person, helping where I can. Most of it is relatively simple, though there are joints that need relocating and bones that need resetting and splinting. I can't really help with that, though I do watch carefully. Turns out, some of the more battle-worn veterans have had experience with things of that nature, and are willing to assist.

Solas comes down from his hut as well, warming both us, our patients, and providing other helpful services, modestly waving away the few thanks he receives.Damn, he really is working that whole 'harmless' charade.

By the time the sun begins to set, everyone has more or less been attended to. I'm sure I'm on the blacklist of a couple of Chantry sisters thanks to my nitpicking. Seriously, if the best that can be managed is to scrub their hands down with clean snow, then do that, but don't work with hands still stained with someone else's blood for crying out loud. And when I caught the first healer using leeches on someone whose main symptoms wereaching limbs andcoughing up a bit of phlegm?Oh, I ripped him a new one.He has a cold for fuck's sake! At worst asthma or bronchitis! It's not even a circulatory problem!

I make my way through the gates of the village for the first time this evening, determined to check on Kaaras before I find a place to sleep. Solas accompanies me, as his work is also done for now. I feel pretty good. Drained, but good. It's nice being useful.

The door of a cottage next to a barren merchant's stall flies open, revealing a red-faced elven woman gripping the threshold in disarray. "Someone! He's stopped breathing!" Those few that are nearby just stand there, not knowing what to do.

"Where?" I turn the question into a command, racing into the small house without a second thought. The woman points to a long-haired elf, half dressed, wrapped in a thin blanket close to the fireplace.Waytoo close.Gotta be carbon monoxide poisoning or smoke inhalation. He needs oxygen."Solas, help me get him outside!" Together, we lift him by the shoulders and legs and carry him to just outside the cottage entrance.

He most certainly is not breathing. I follow procedure, shaking his shoulders, calling out to him, and quickly checking his airways before making the decision to do CPR. The elf's chest is bare, so I can easily locate his sternum. "This is gonna hurt, buddy, but not as much as being dead will." I interlock my fingers, breathing deeply before beginning chest compressions.

"Is there hope?" The woman whispers, quiet vulnerability lacing her words.

I clench my jaw, fixated on pressing as hard as I can against the chest beneath me. A rib or two gives way during the process. Not broken per se, but dislocated. He'll have to have them popped back in place. "There is a small chance," I grunt between compressions, "but it can take up to thirty five minutes to resuscitate someone. Hopefully this won't be that long."

They are silent while I work, tense in their stillness. Ten minutes drag on. My arms are lead weights and my wrists feel like they're about to snap off. I'm just about to ask Solas or the elven woman if they think they can take over when the unconscious man sucks in a sputtering breath of air. I move to the side, supporting his back so he can cough properly. A few quiet cheers surprise me. Apparently those that could not assist had stayed to watch the show.

"Ungghh," he groans, face contorting in pain. For good reason, really.

The elven woman drops to her knees, crying, "Enril!" When she reaches out for him, I seize her arm.

"He has a few dislocated ribs," I explain wearily, "but I don't know how to reset them."Why does she look familiar? Is she… yep, she's definitely that elven NPC that attends to the "Herald" in the beginning of the game.

"I believe I may be of some assistance," Solas supplies, kneeling beside Enril. He skims his fingers over the prone elf, conjuring tendrils of magic. I only realize that he's actually done something when Enril relaxes, a small sigh leaving his lips.That wasn't as painful looking as I expected.

"Hello... sister," he rasps, shivering. "Is there a reason I'm... outside in the... freezing cold?"

"Bastard," the poor woman giggles disbelievingly, enveloping him in a gentle embrace.

"Get him warm," I say, rising to my feet. "But don't ever sleep that close to a fire again. In fact, I'd check the flue. Make sure it's letting the smoke out of the house properly, alright?"

"Is that what you think caused it?" The woman's head swivels to glare suspiciously at the fireplace.

Furrowing his heavy brow, Enril struggles to string words together. "Caused what? Reya... what're you... talking about?"

"Enril," Reya scrubs furiously at her eyes, "you were dead. You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped beating. She saved your life."

"What?" his eyes widen, trying to sit up.

"Don't strain yourself too much, Enril. Get some rest. And Reya, good work."

"I did nothing," Reya waves her hands, startled.

I smile as warmly as I'm able to in this awfulawfulcold. "Not just anyone would have reacted as quickly as you did."

"Oh," she flushes.

"Shall we take him inside?" Solas raises a brow at me.

"Sure thing," I nod, gathering Enril's legs in my arms. Together, we carry the long-haired elf into the cottage and set him down on a pallet prepared by Reya. "Prop him up and check his breathing throughout the night."

Reya clasps her hands together, bowing her head. "Thank you so much for your kindness. How can I repay you? I don't have much, but-"

I wave her away, my cheeks burning. "I don't need anything. Anyone would've done the same if they were able."

"If there's something I can do for either of you, you have only to ask," Reya tells me, firm despite my protests.And here I thought she'd be as much of a pushover as she was in that opening sequence.

Thankfully, it is Solas who answers her, casting a curious look at me. "That is very kind of you. However, I am afraid that we must be going. The hour grows late."

Reya nods, returning her attentions to her drowsy brother. "Of course! Maker be with you both!"

"You as well," I return, relieved to make my escape. "If you need me, I'll be in…"I had planned to squat in Master Taigen's hut for the night, but I don't want to make her trek out that far if she does actually need me."...the home of the mark-wielder."

"The mark-wielder?" she looks up just as Solas and I slip out the door. My stomach chooses this moment to perform a convincing whale impersonation.Oh yeah. Food.

Turning to Solas, I pat my belly, "Have you eaten at all today? Because I could go for a small horse army."

He chuckles softly. "I had cold porridge this morning."

"Right," I nod, decided, "That settles it, we're hunting down something that is both hot and filling. Onward!" My pace quickens, motivated by the possibility of a meal. Solas keeps up with me easily.

"Where did you learn that technique?" The bald apostate asks in such a nonchalant way I know he's genuinely curious. "I have never seen such a thing in all my travels."

I cock an eyebrow, "Where are you from?" My arms hurt like hell, but I'm floating high on adrenaline.I just saved someone's life; I can afford to be a little cocky.

Solas looks sharply away, "A small village to the north. I doubt that you would know it."

My lips curve into a smirk. "Right. And where did you learn to reset ribs? Or to fight so skillfully?" The brief flash of alarm on his face forces me to stifle a laugh. "Those are skills I'd expect more from a soldier than an apostate on the run."

Maybe that was too mean, because never before have I seen an expression become guarded so quickly. "I believe I asked you first."

What's the harm, really?

So much. So much harm.

I can do what I want. You don't control me.

With a grin, I fold my arms behind my head, kicking a lump of snow in the path. "It's called cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR, and it's commonly taught where I come from, though to differing extents. It only works a quarter of the time, and it's almost guaranteed to break a few bones. Enril wasextremelyfortunate." Perhaps elven bones have different properties?

Solas thoughtfully takes this in. "From where do you hail, that such a skill is so commonplace?"

I tap my temple knowingly. "Nunya business, remember?" He opens his mouth to object to such an unsatisfying answer, but I shake my head. We've arrived at the tavern.The Singing Maiden is a hub of activity this night, second only to the Chantry. Drunken ballads and warm candlelight spill out the windows in equal measure. I pull on the hefty oak door, moaning when a wall of warmth envelops me.

The place is filled to the brim with soldiers, scouts, citizens, and even the odd Chantry member swapping stories and partaking of Flissa's ram stew, cheesy potato mash, and brown ale. The barkeep seems anything but frazzled, however, despite the chaos. At the center of it all sits none other than Varric Tethras.

"And there I was, ass-deep in demons-"

"Well that's not very high at all, is it? More like knee-height for us!" A soldier out of his armor but very much into his cups points out.

Varric raises his voice over him. "When all of a sudden the Seeker shows up with this qunari woman. Tall, muscular, shiny black horns honed to a fine point, and her hand ablaze with green fire. It almost seemed like divine intervention." His audience is enraptured, and even I have to admit that the candlelight adds an atmospheric quality his words.

"The Herald of Andraste!" A woman pipes up, causing a raucous cheer among the others.Ah, so that's how it started. Figures Varric would be involved somehow.Solas and I slide unnoticed into a pair of free seats.

"Wot can I get ya, luvs?" A tavern maid with rosy cheeks and a stained blouse looms over us. "We 'ave a bargain price tonight."

My face burns as a thought suddenly strikes me.Fuck,I'm stupid."I, uh, don't have any money."

"Well," the woman scowls, impatient, "wot abou' you, elf?"

"Two bowls of stew," Solas requests, removing a stack of coppers from a coin purse tied to his belt. The woman shrugs, sweeping the money into her apron.

"Wait!" I object, but she's already vanished into the throng of bodies. "I couldn't take your money, Solas."I don't want to owe you any favors.

The wolf in disguise raises a calming hand, faintly amused. "It is no trouble."

Scowling, I'm forced to relent by the hunger gnawing at my innards. "Fine, but I'm paying you back." When our bowls of meaty broth arrive, I have to hold myself back from slurping it all down in one go. It's filling, heavily spiced, and wonderfully aromatic. We don't really speak much, nursing our bowls and observing the people around us.

Once the effects of food and warmth kick in, my body finally realizes it's not in danger anymore and I come down from my seemingly hours long adrenaline high.Have I ever been this tired?

Sighing, I say goodbye to Solas and head out the door into the miserable cold. Arriving at Kaaras' cottage, I scrub myself and then my clothes down with a pot of warm water and pieces of soap. Then, I find a couple spare blankets and wrap myself up in them several feet away from the low-burning flames.

Succumbing to the beckoning call of sleep, I wonder if this dream is nearing its end.

Wandering through dark mist, I feel the back of my neck prickle. Something is watching me; I can tell. A vaguely familiar voice resonates through the air, as though originating from multiple places at once.

This dream keeps getting weirder and weirder.

How amusing. You believe this to be a conjuration of your mind? Have you not felt pain? Did your body not ache after fighting?

Look, buddy. I once spent an entire dream being slowly and agonizingly tortured, so anything's possible.

This is all very real. I assure you.

Sure, and Dolores Umbridge donates to charity every weekend.

When was the last time you have had a lucid dream?

Um…

Oh, yes. Never.

It's never too late to start, am I right?

Rosalind Amelia Clarke, you have been charged with the completion of two major tasks. Firstly, you must prevent the Dread Wolf from carrying out his current machinations. Secondly, eliminate the Blight. It poses a danger to all.

Would you like a large drink with that order, whatever your name is?

I am beyond your ability to fully comprehend. Call me what you will. It matters not.

Stanley, then. I'm afraid that, allowing for the possibility that this is indeed real, you've gotta know that I am not the right person for this job.

What if I told you that Earth's purpose is to train people for use in other realms? It is a central hub for song and tale. Your video games and anime and tribal legends and mythologies all come from somewhere.Youare qualified to helpthisworld withtheseproblems.

How can I? How could I even begin to tackle something as ancient as the Blight, much less Solas' monumental close-mindedness?

I will give you a small nudge in the right direction. Concentrate on your core. Feel the blood flow through your veins, forced onward with each pump of your heart. You are alive. Imagine following the course of electric signals from your brain along the paths of nerve fibers and back again. Now, do you feel somethingmore?A warm energy pulsating with life.

Mmmmmm hmmmmmmmmm.

It is slumbering, but you can awaken it. Focus on it. Dig deeper. Let it permeate your being.

Shit. This feels...good. Like, really good. What is this?

The people of this world call it magic. They do not fully understand what it is they do.

Magic? Woah, woah, woah, hang on there, buddy. Did you just turn me into a mage without my consent?

You already had the aptitude for it; I simply facilitated the connection to your power.

This is super definitely a dream. Holy shit, dude. Are you even trying to be subtle at this point?

Your doctor called it Chronic Motor Tic Disorder. She said that your brain was hyperactive, requiring involuntary repeated motion to focus yourself when necessary. You never grew out of it, simply adjusting how your 'tics' manifested themselves in order to make them less noticeable to the average passer-by. That alone required a certain degree of willpower, but there was more to it than you could have known.

Are you telling me that my tics are a symptom of not being able to use magic?

A simplified explanation, but the underlying principle is correct.

I askedwhoyou are, Stanley, but now I'm dying to knowwhatyou are. I have so many questions. What kind of mage am I? Spirit? Healing? Rift? No wait, I'm a Necromancer, aren't I?

Until we meet again, Rosalind.

What? You can't just leave!

Oh, but I can.

When I open my eyes, it is with utmost calm. Fiery sparks and motes of dust swirl through the air in an enchanting ballet, never before appreciated to this degree. I feel replenished. My mind is crisp, clean, as though it has been recently cleared of cobwebs and vigorously polished. A pleasant golden glow emanates from my skin.

That's about when I realize my tunic is on fire.


	6. Out of the Pot

"Fuck me!" I yelp, nearly moving to rip the flaming tunic over my head before remembering that my hair would then also be on fire. Kicking the nearby blankets away, I roll back and forth across the unyielding stone floor until the flames sputter out. The shirt is ruined, reduced to a shriveled scrap of scorched cloth clinging to my shoulders. Somehow, my still glowing flesh has escaped harm. I skim fingers over my belly, experimentally squishing unblemished skin.Interesting. Those burns, they're gone.

Something else of note, I'm not even remotely near the fireplace, so there's no way a stray spark ignited the fabric. That would be a whole new level of dumbassery considering what happened to Enril only hours before.Could this be magic? And why am I still in Haven? This dream is taking sooooooo fucking long.

Time to wake up and smell the coffee, babe. This may very well be real.

But that's impossible. It's a game. None of this can be true.

Stanley did have some good points. You've never had a lucid dream, nor one this chronologically linear. You feel the cold in your bones, see the grain in the wooden wall slats, and your breath smells like a small animal curled up and died. It could prove detrimental to treat this situation as anything but dangerous. Your stupidity could get you killed. For example, telling the fucking Dread Wolf that CPR, a technique unheard of in Thedas, is supposedly commonplace where you come from. You think he won't fucking try to track down your origins?

Okay, I get it. I goofed. I did a bad. What do you want me to do about it? What's done is done.

Right. No revealing shit about being from Earth and knowing the future unless you absolutely have to. And I mean abso-fucking-lutely. Got it?

Yeah. Sure.

Grunting, I rip off the remains of the tunic and lay back on the cool stone. I'll need to get a new shirt, eventually. I can't just walk around in pants and a chest wrap. Besides, people might ask questions about my tattoos. From my shoulder to my wrist on my right arm, there's a black and purple night sky inked to look like watercolor that bleeds into a dark forested landscape. Sketch-style illustrations of some of my all-time favorite characters adorn the other.

It's not long before my thoughts are drawn back to the idea of magic fire. Wiggling my fingers, I concentrate on the feeling of warmth within me, trying to channel it through my body. A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead. My brow is intensely furrowed, completely focused on my right hand. Suddenly, it erupts in bright flames that lick ravenously up my forearm. "Fuck!" I squeal, lunging backward. The flames vanish in an instant.That's great, because how the fuck did you expect to get away from your own arm?

Shut it. The more important question is how I go about controlling it. Magic's supposed to be, like, connecting to the Fade in order to make the real world more malleable, right?It takes another fifteen minutes of concentration to conjure another, much smaller flame.

"Woah," I breathe, bringing my hand close to my face. I can feel a modicum of heat radiating from it. The movement of the tiny fire seems normal, as well as the radius of its glow. Somewhat dazed,I watch as both flame and golden aura gently eke away.My dreams aren't this detailed, you're right. But what if I'm high? Maybe someone slipped me something? If my hallucinations induced by exhaustion are vivid as fuck, drugs must make them insanely realistic.

It's a possibility, I suppose. But when would you have taken anything? You came straight home from work, did about half an hour of yoga, then locked yourself up in your room to study for the rest of the night.

What if that's also a part of some high dream, though?

When was the last time you've been to a party?

A...really long time.

Exactly. Look, all I'm saying is that we may as well not be complete idiots while we're here.

I wrap a blanket around my shoulders like a shawl just as the door creaks open and a slender woman carrying a wicker basket slips inside. It's Reya. "Hello, miss," she smiles, though it's the brittle kind. Her movements are cautious, so as not to risk waking Kaaras.

Sitting up, I purse my lips, "Is there anything I can help you with? That basket looks heavy."

"Oh no, miss," she shakes her head, easing said basket to the floor. "I've just come to change her clothes. Isn't right for the Herald of Andraste to wear wool's been patched again 'n again."

Watching her tentatively pull a thick quilt off of the snoring qunari, I stand, making my voice as soft as possible, "How's Enril?"

She tenses, whispering, "he is doing well, miss." Her spine is arched, and I can tell that she's trembling.

"Are you alright?" I instinctively reach for her shoulder, but stop halfway.Is she comfortable being touched?

Reya curls inwardly on herself, staggering away from Kaaras' bed. "'m fine. It's jus', well, he was dead, miss. If you hadn' been there…" she hiccups, sounding suspiciously close to crying.Shit."I would ne'er get to hear 'im laugh again. He 'as such a lovely laugh." When I catch a glimpse of tears streaming down her face, I hesitantly gather her into my arms, giving her room to pull away, and pat her back in a manner I hope isn't as awkward as it feels.

She breaks down full-on sobbing then, sagging against me.Fuck what do I do? Fuck fuck fuck fuck, um, I guess this is fine for right now?My grip tightens around her. We stand like that for a little while, myself crooning what I think are soothing words and she heaving great shuddering gasps onto my blanketed shoulder. After a while, I ask her to sit down and allow me to make her a pot of tea.

"I couldn't, miss," her watery eyes widen. She pushes away from me, tripping over herself to return to her task.

"Sit down, Reya," I say, infusing my words with command. "This will help you calm down." Still sniffling, she acquiesces, sliding into a chair. "Thank you," I turn, focusing now on tea.

I'm placing the lid on the kettle, having already stoked the fire, when I hear Reya's quiet tones. "Do you know much about the Herald?"

I stiffen ever so slightly. "A little, why?"

She clears her throat. "Oh, er, it's just, I wanted to know. Is she all, you know, horns and anger and the Qun?" Horrified at her own bluntness, she claps a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that she, well…"

I slide a glance at the qunari, smirking at her parted lips. She's so blissfully unaware of both her surroundings and what's in store for her. "I would say she is not as frightening as you might think. Anyway, while she's of the qunari race, she's Vashoth. She does not follow the Qun. Not that that should necessarily be cause for alarm anyway."

"Oh," Reya nods, slightly relieved.

An hour of muted conversation and weak tea pass us by. I help her wash Kaaras' body and then clothe her in those strange Quizzyjamas.So many buttons.The topic of my missing shirt comes up and she races out of the cottage. When she returns, she pushes a red woolen tunic into my hands, saying it's one of Enril's spares. She didn't think anything of hers would fit me. I accept the garment gladly. We speak some more about various trivial matters, but then it is time for her to leave.

As she departs, she remembers something. "Miss, once the Herald awakens, Lady Cassandra wants to see her. The both of you, actually. I thought I would let you know if I canna tell her myself."

"Thank you," I dip my head. "Oh! Is there a way I can, um, clean my teeth? My breath smells godawful and I was just wondering if you knew of anything..."

A faint smile touches her lips. "I'm sure I'll be able to hunt something down."

"Thank you."

"Not at all," she sketches a quick curtsey before bounding off into the village as quickly as her legs can carry her. Sparing another look at the resting qunari, I step outside and lock the door between us. While for now I go to check up on those recently injured, I make a mental note to drop by Solas' later.

I have some questions for Haven's resident wolf.


	7. Liar Liar

Every second that drags on is another that the boy, Enril, should never have known. Bringing someone back from the dead should be well beyond the capabilities of mereshemlen.Falon'din himself would have balked at the notion. The human had not even usedmagicto accomplish what she did.

Perhaps looking into her background might turn up something worthwhile. She had said something along the lines of "me weboh treestay". It was certainly foreign. Antivan, or perhaps Rivaini? Her accent has a strange quality to it, resembling one from the Free Marches more than any. She is, admittedly, puzzling.

The sound of raised voices distracts me from both my thoughts and the grossly inaccurateNo Spirit is HarmlessbyBitte Enfoiré. Ordinarily, I would not care enough about an argument between villagers to investigate, but I cannot say I would be particularly disappointed to leave the book's musty pages for a short time. The text is, I am fairly certain, almost singlehandedly responsible for the pounding headache blooming behind my temples. Opening my door a crack, I poke my head into the frigid air in search of those causing the commotion. It takes a little work, as they're out of the way of the main path, but I do spot them.

Most of the villagers outside give no notice to the three people, they themselves likely going to the tavern or having recently left it. A potbellied man with dark stubble and rotten teeth, obviously drunk, towers menacingly over a pair of women, at least one of whom is elven. The second woman stands between the man and the elven girl, back towards me with arms thrown out in protective fashion. I have enough wherewithal to realize that I should not interfere with this. Drawing undue attention to myself at this point in time, where things remain so uncertain, could prove detrimental.

The man steps closer to the human woman, wrapping a meaty hand around her upper arm."Get outta the way, girlie! This ain't your concern!"

Without hesitation, she viciously bends his fingers backward and to the side, making him yelp. "Once you groped that girl without her permission, it became my concern."That voice. It is… yes, thatwoman again. Ross.I had not recognized her with clean hair and a lively red tunic. There is something else, a glow around her, a pleasantly warm amber.An aura? But I had sensed nothing of the sort. Has she been concealing her magic this whole time?

"Feisty little bitch!" The man spits, rubbing his knuckles. "If you don't move outta my way, I'll move you myself. Me and the knife-ear there was, er, havin' a moment."

The timid elf grips Ross' tunic, trying in vain to drag her away. "It's alright, miss. It wasn't nothin' too bad. Nothin' worth a beatin' over, anyhow."

"There, ya see?" The man staggers forward, reaching hungrily for the elven woman. "There's no' a problem 'ere."

The human stiffens. "Did youwanthim to touch you? If you did, I'll leave you to it and you have my sincere apologies."

"Well," the girl stutters, "no, but-"

"Then that's all that matters" she rolls her shoulders back, returning her attention to the oafish drunkard. "It seems to me,messere,that the lady here wishes to leave in peace. If you'd be so kind as to allow her to, we might all depart without any trouble and wake up safe and sound in ourseparatebeds tomorrow."

The man leans in close to Ross, making her recoil."Aw, don' be like that. You can join in, too, sweetheart. Migh' be fun." Seeming to warm up to the idea, he draws himself further in, settling a hairy hand against the small of her back.That is it.I slip fully out the door.Perhaps a simple sleeping spell, though the matter of transporting his body should be duly considered-

"You asked for it," Ross first kicks a leg out from under him before proceeding to grab a fistful of the man's trousers, whooping when the stained lump of fabric catches flame. Her aura ignites just as brightly, blazing with flickering light.Fenedhis lasa. The man howls, throwing himself into a pile of snow in a rush to extinguish the small blaze. Ross grapples for the startled elven girl's hand, catapulting her forward with a shout. "Run!" The elf, requiring no further encouragement, takes off like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.

By now the man has somewhat recovered, having gotten mostly to his feet. "Why you little-" he takes a swipe at Ross who then easily dodges the blow. Reaching instinctively for the hilt of a dagger and finding nothing, her expression transforms from smug intensity to horrified shock a second before the man snags her by the collar and bashes her head into the rim of a barrel. She crumples to the ground with a heavy thump, aura now so dim I strain to see it. Pleased with himself, the man reaches for the woman's prone form, almost certainly with dishonorable intentions.

That will not do.Anyone who would stand up for the meek does not deserve that. Focusing more intensely than I would need to if I had a staff on hand, I make sure he collapses in the snow. It should take some time for a passer-by to do anything about his body. There are too manyshemlenwho regularly commit such acts without consequence. This need not be such an occasion.

It is obvious that no one else in this forsaken village will assist the human woman, so I carry her to Adan's cottage. Her eyes open and shut a few times as she battles to stay conscious. The apothecary grumbles at first, but swiftly recognizes the freckled skin and flaxen hair. A swollen red welt surrounded by bruising speaks for itself. "Isn't this the girl that fell out of the Fade? Organized a lot of the healing yesterday? What happened?"

I sigh, "A drunkard slammed her head against a barrel. She is incapacitated."

"Really? Had no idea." He raises a pair of bushy eyebrows, "and what were you doing when this was taking place? Picking daisies?"

Batting aside the faint accusation, I explain,"I had come out to investigate their raised voices. The man who did this has mysteriously found himself equally incapacitated." Fingers skimming over her forehead, I do what I can to reduce the swelling.

Ross' eyes flick open, a hazy grey-blue. Her pupils are two noticeably different sizes. "'ello Solaaahmmmm. Ah tink ah 'ave a concusssssion. Mmminor 'opefully."

"Concussion?" I repeat. She whimpers, twisting away as though I've shouted directly into her ear. I feel a twinge of sympathy.

"Brain bruise," she whispers in a voice so low even I strain to hear it. Her eyelids slide shut once more. "Is better ta jus' lemme sleep."

Adan grunts, moving to rifle through his alchemical stores. "I have smelling saltssomewherearound here. Ah, there we are," he snatches a small jar from amongst powdered embrium petals and dried felandaris stalks.

Objecting on the woman's behalf, I point out, "She said it would be more beneficial to allow her rest."

Adan rubs his temples tiredly. "She's had a rough knock on the head, apostate. I need her conscious enough to take an elfroot potion and maybe something else to dull the pain. She can sleep after." He positions the salts underneath her nose, waiting until Ross jolts awake to pull them away. She grits her teeth, clutching at her head. "Drink these. Don't complain," the apothecary orders, brooking no argument.

Ross tips the pair of potions back, offering a pained grimace before easing herself back down. Staring blankly at the roof, her eyelids droop further and further and her breathing evens out. The aura hovering around her skin is an ember glowing faintly amidst the suffocating darkness of this dead world.

"Didn't even have to brew a sleeping draught. Heh," Adan smirks, replacing supplies he had gotten out. "Now, where is she staying? She'll not be laying on my bed the whole night through."

She mentioned it to Enril's sister."I believe she is currently residing in the same cottage as the Herald of Andraste."

The apothecary scoffs, giving me a look more suitably aimed at an unusually dull child. "Not tonight, she isn't. Herald's in relatively stable condition, aside from being out cold. Girl's more questionable. She isn't spending the night at the other end of the village. I amnotrisking one of the only people for miles with medical knowledge."

"Where are you suggesting I take her, exactly?"

Adan eases her torso up, allowing me to position my hands correctly before I take on the rest of the woman's weight. "You're only a few houses down, aren't you?"

"Very well," I concede, sighing. The apothecary at least escorts me out, shutting the door as soon as I step into the frigid night air. By the faint light of the two moons above, I fumble one-handedly with my door latch.

The fire has burned low, almost completely embers and ash. The copy ofNo Spirit is Harmlessrests on my writing desk, still on the same annotation-scrawled page at which I had left. Now that I am here, it occurs to me that I only have one cot, and a small one at that. Sighing again, I lay Ross down in it, drawing the blanket up around her chin.A quickling in the bed of Fen'Harel. If the Evanuris could see me now...

It is with utmost disdain that I retrieve the tome, having nothing better to occupy my mind, and settle into an uncomfortable wicker chair for what is sure to be a long night.


	8. Boiled Eggs and Jam

My head throbs, thankfully closer to an intense migraine than the skull-splitting agony of yesterday. At least Ithinkit was yesterday.No way of being sure, really. It's all a delirium-induced blur. All I remember is that he was that asshat guard from before.The crackling of a fire and smell of old books envelops me like a blanket. No, wait, there's an actual blanket. It's warm and soft, pulled up to my chin. Cracking my eyelids open, I take far too long trying to decipher the secrets of the bowl levitating above me.Is someone using magic? Why is it just staying there? Is there anything in it?Painstakingly easing myself up to a sitting position, I finally see the delicate white flowers peeking over the rim of the mystical bowl.It's a fucking potted plant. Fuck me. Why am I like this?

Wait. There aren't any hanging potted plants in Kaaras'...oh.Solas is face-down at a desk, carelessly having crumpled the pages of a book beneath folded arms. Overall, the stiff backed chair and awkward angle at which his neck is bent seem as though it'd make for poor sleeping conditions. This is his house. He let me sleep in his bed, and we all know how much _el_ huevo tristecherishes his Fade Time. This means I gotta do something in return. Living in the South taught me nothing if not proper manners.

When in doubt, the answer is food.

Tiptoeing around the slumbering egg, I get the door open and stagger outside, throwing an arm up to shield my eyes from the light of the sun.Fucking hell, that burns.Flashing spots dance behind my closed eyelids. The chill of the snow beneath my feet seeps upward through my boot soles, reminding me to not be a doofus and start walking. It's still early in the morning, so Flissa's shouldn't be too busy. Betting on this assumption, I make my way to the Singing Maiden, tugging open the heavy oak door as quietly as humanly possible.

Flissa glances up from the tankard she's wiping down, clearly irate. "Oi, we start servin' drink at midday, get your ale somewhere el- Oh, excuse me, lass! Mistook you for a right scoundrel comes in here oftentimes. You're the girl that wanted honey for the healer's tent, yeah? Whatwastha' about?" A few of the other tavern maids stop their work to peer at me. Clearly they'd heard a few tales. "A couple o' the soldiers been in 'ere sayin' you patched 'em up decent."

I smile faintly, massaging my temples.She is so loud. Why."Helps, uh, honey helps make sure an injured person doesn't get, er, sick. Lavender oil might've worked too, but honey was what came to mind."

The tavern keeper frowns, tilting her head to the side. "You don' look too good, though it's none o' my business. Maybe you shoulda' taken some o' that healin' honey yourself, eh?" I can only imagine what my tousled hair, red face, and rumpled clothing must implicate to someone else.

"Ah, yeah. I hit my head pretty hard," I chuckle nervously, doing my best to avoid looking at the blazing candles and monstrously bright fireplace. "I was wondering if you make breakfast? I need two, I'll pay, and I'll bring the bowls back."

"Two, eh?" she eyes me knowingly, pursing her lips at the tavern workers. They're the only other people in the establishment anyway. "Five coppers a meal. Hot porridge with cream and a hard-boiled egg to go with it." I fork over the ten coppers, wincing as the coins clink together.

I withdraw another three coppers, sliding them across the bar counter but not taking my hand from them. "Um, is there a way I could get one of the porridges sweetened somehow? Maybe some leftover honey or just plain sugar?"

She nods, smiling warmly as she scoops up the extra coins. "Got yourself a sweet tooth, eh lass? I can add a dollop of jam to one of 'em for ya."

Winking good-naturedly at a pretty redhead, Flissa clucks her tongue. "Right, you heard the girl, Sheila. Little to do, less time to do it in!"

The serving girl shrugs, vanishing into a kitchen area. She's back with two bowls in such little time I have a hunch that this was their breakfast as well. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll be on my way now."

"Remember, dearie," she calls after me, "bowls back by midday rush!"

"Yes, ma'am," I respond, already preparing for the visual onslaught that is the sun. It isn't enough.Holy fuck. Why does the sun exist? Screw photosynthesis. Screw cellular respiration. Screw all energy transformations. Who needs energy anyway?Balancing both bowls on one arm, I fiddle with the door handle to Solas' cottage, nearly dropping the two of them when the door swings suddenly inward. The elf's sharp eyes narrow first at me, then at the food I'm carrying. I grin sheepishly at him. "Can I come in, Solas?"

"Of course," he shakes himself, moving swiftly out of the threshold, closing the door behind me, and snagging a glass vial full of dark liquid. I gesture for him to seat himself before passing him the bowl that's been all jammed up. He offers me a mildly incredulous look, "What is this?"

"Gratitude porridge," I explain, far more pleased than I really have any right to be. "It's a thank you for letting me stay in your home. I expect it was a pain to sleep in that chair all night."

"You are welcome," he says, stirring the jam into his porridge and taking a tentative bite. The way his eyes widen and his lips part in surprise sends a burst of warmth through my chest. "The apothecary asked that I give you this." He passes the glass vial to me and I swallow its contents. Almost immediately, the pain in my head grows a touch more bearable. "I had not realized you were a mage until you ceased hiding your aura."

"Wait, what?" Sputtering, I lean forward on the straw mattress I had chosen for myself. "What aura? When did you even see me do magic?"I'm fairly certain he wasn't around when my own tunic accidentally caught on fire or later when my arm accidentally caught on fire. That leaves setting Prick Face's pants on fire right before the fucker slammed my fucking head into a fucking barrel."Oh, I see. How long were you watching that pitiful excuse for a fight? I mean, I come out alive from a battle with a Pride demon, but get laid flat by a large wooden container? How does that make sense?"

"It was not pitiful," his expression darkens. "No one else was going to defend that woman."

"Yes, well," I clear my throat, jabbing my spoon into lukewarm porridge. "I had actually been on my way here anyway before encountering that pasty-faced prick." If the ancient Elvhen rebel takes offense at my language, his mask of impassivity conceals it. "I just wanted to ask… is it possible for someone to come into their magic after, say, their adolescent years have passed?"

He leans back in his chair, spoon raised halfway between bowl and mouth. "I do not have much experience with such matters. Perhaps you might seek out a Circle mage?"

I scowl, "there have to be a whoppingthreeother mages in all of Haven right now and they're probably all hopped up on Chantry rhetoric. I'm interested in knowingwhyit's said that it's impossible to gain abilities at a late age. Does it have something to do with going through puberty? Emotional maturity? I know some mages discover their gifts in fits of pique or during great mourning, but others simply want to heal a wounded pet or perform a trick of light to please an irate parent."

The elf arches a brow, tilting his head to the side, "Is there a particular reason for the sudden curiosity?"

I inhale deeply, raising my chin.Might as well."I wasn't a mage before coming out of the Fade, Solas."

That catches his attention. He sits up straight and his ears flick back the tiniest fraction. "Was yesterday your first time using magic?"

"Yes."Technically true.I don't see why he needs to be made aware of the tunic incident, though.

"Interesting," he half-smiles, contemplative. "Is anyone else aware of your situation?"

I snort in disbelief. "Other than you, the guy whose ass I burned, anyone he may have told, or those that heard the screaming? Not a soul knows I'm a mage."

"That is not what I meant," Solas wrinkles his nose. "For all theyknew, you were in complete control of your magic. I ask if there are any others that know that you gained your power in the Fade."

"Then no," I say.Unless Stanley counts."I did plan on telling people at some point, though."

"Indeed," Solas agrees, "it would be best to notify the Seeker and a few others before much longer. Perhaps once theHeraldawakens?" The way he emphasizes'Herald' makes me stifle a giggle.

"Sounds like a plan." Rising from the mattress, I take the two bowls, scraped clean by now, and take my leave. "Dar'eth shiral,Solas."

Startled either by the abruptness of my exit or my use of the simple farewell, he responds, "Tas na." I'm like ninety percent sure he said something like 'You, too' so that's a good sign I guess."Where did you learn that phrase?"

"Just picked up a few pleasantries here and there," I undo the latch, letting my full body weight do the work in swinging the door open."Tuelanen ama na!" Creatorsprotect you,I say. Let him think I visited some Dalish tribe or something. Before he can say anything disparaging, I turn away, hurrying down steps to the tavern in order to return the bowls I had borrowed. Flissa droops a little once she figures out I don't plan to contribute any steamy gossip.

The rest of the day flies by, each hour relieving a bit of pressure behind my temples. I make sure to stop by Adan's to thank him for that mystery vial. Making use of my gratitude, he ends up putting me to work wrapping poultices and checking up on those injured in the fighting. It's nice, reminds me of working in a chem lab, and I soon fall into a rhythm. I learn the names and characteristics of all sorts of new ingredients, though according to Adan they're nothing really exotic for Ferelden.

For example, there's this one bush with spiny leaves and tiny yellow flowers that grows all over this side of Ferelden. If you squeeze out the fluid in the stems, it can be used in sleeping draughts. However, if you grind up its roots, you could kill an elephant. Not that Ferelden has elephants. I think.

Anyway, most of what Adan has me do is dictated through verbal instruction, so it takes me a long time of fleeting glances before I process it. Nothing in his whole collection of scrolls is written in English. The letters are all completely meaningless archaic symbols.Somehow, I doubt Adan makes a habit of studying ancient language. That means this is Trade. That means I can't fucking read the Thedosian common tongue.

I believe it is this realization more than any that cements the idea that this is a reality. No way in hell, in no fantasy that my mind could conjure, would I not be able to read Thedas' lingua franca. Regardless, I grind herbs with a mortar and pestle, boil mixtures over the hearth, and pour out measured doses of potion into flasks.

When I leave that evening, making my way toward the village entrance, I'm fairly satisfied. Most of the pain in my head has dissipated, though a dull ache remains. _Hey_. It's been about three days now, right? Kaaras should be waking up real soon. That'll be nice.

I trudge through the village gates. Cullen's soldiers are outside where the infirmary had been just two nights ago, some sparring, some hacking at training dummies, and still others doing military exercises. Skirting around them, I keep to the iced-over dirt path. Some unknown signal carries through their ranks, dismissing them from the training grounds. The sunispretty low in the sky.

"Yeah, yeah, she looked like—she looked likeher!"A soldier's gruff voice carries through the crisp air. Something about it makes me look over my shoulder. That proves to be a mistake because, sure enough, Prick Face stands surrounded by a gang of his buddies. "That's the mage tha' attacked me las' night!"

Fuck.


	9. No Good Deed

I pivot on my heel, continuing to move at a normal pace. Speed walking is for suspicious people.

"Oi, turn around, mage! I wasn't finished talkin' to ya!" I hear five sets of footsteps behind me, a particularly heavy pair is close on my heels. Obviously, I don't turn around. With what I've seen of him, the prick would likely use that asevidenceof my status as a mage.Is it better to go to Taigen's hut where we'd be out of view of anyone else or to allow them to catch up to me and theoretically figure out I actually am the mage that "attacked" him?

One of his pals pipes up, a touch more intelligent than the others, "Ey, Dirk, are you sure she's even a mage? Youwerepretty shit-faced last night."

Dirk doesn't take too kindly to this. "Are ye questionin' my judgement, mate? After all I done for ye?"

"No, nothin' like tha'. I jus' don' plan on doin' nothin' to get kicked outta the Commander's regiment. I want to be sure of a few things before we take 'er in. Ey, girlie, we just wanna talk to ya!"

Brushing my forehead where I had been injured, I feel nothing that clearly stands out as a wound thanks to Solas and Adan's work. That means there should be nothing glaringly obvious to them either. However, it's tender, so there might very well be bruising.I have to take a chance.Straightening my spine and planting my feet, I stop walking, forcing them to move around me if they don't want to talk to the back of my head. If this turns into a five to one confrontation while I'm still unarmed, my only real option would be to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I'd prefer that direction be toward a place with witnesses.

I could chance magic, but that's sorta what got me into this situation.

"What do you want?" I scowl, adopting an imperious tone.Speak as though you don't fear your own death.

"Don't play dumb, mage," Dirk, now armored, stands far too close to me, close enough that I can practically taste his rancid breath. Bits of food are caked into the corners of his mouth.A coward, then, who doesn't know how to get his way without using intimidation tactics."I know it was you las' night, so why don' you just save us all a lotta trouble and confess. See? Right there," he jabs a fat finger at my forehead, "that's where I got her with that barrel."

My expression hardens; I do my best to turn my eyes to piercing shards of blue glass. "Leave me alone. I was the other person that fell out of the Fade, you know. That's why my face is so beat up. I wasfightingjust a few days ago."

"An' I'm the bloody Queen o' Antiva," Dirk barks a laugh, releasing an unfortunate amount of spit in the process. "You really think we'd fall for tha' shite story?"

I nearly roll my eyes, "Yourdisbeliefdoesn't make it any less true."

"Oh, sweetheart, I couldn't forget eyes that sharp no matter how hammered I got," Dirk jeers. "I'll tell you wha', you show me an' my mates here a good time, and I can let this whole thing slide. It's nearly sundown, and you wouldn't want the Commander to hear about the apostate wreaking havoc in the village. You could 'ave killed me, ya know." Every step he takes toward me is another one I take back.

Take a breath.I duck my head. "You know,Dirk, I think my answer is the only one that makes sense for a girl in my position."

"Really," he grins a grin that might be considered feral were it not for the probable gum disease. "And what might tha' be?"

"There's probably a reason no woman actuallywantsto fuck you." With that, I take off sprinting as fast as I can. It's not even a question of who's outrunning who. When I toss a look over my shoulder, I see they aren't chasing after me. It's a smart move on their part, as pursuing me would raise questions among all those that happen to be within sight. However, I don't miss Dirk's rotten smile, the tension in his shoulders, his clenched fists. Maybe I don't know when to stop, or maybe I just feel a tad safer within the confines of Haven's walls, but I raise my middle finger triumphantly to the sky.

You have nothing to be triumphant about. This does not feel like the end.

I can deal with him.

Can you? Really? You've bruised his pride in front of his followers. I doubt he will let this go.

A charming laugh behind me makes me slump my shoulders in relief. "I was thinking Blue at first, but I'm liking the idea of something with more kick. Maybe Birdie, after that whole display. Has a nice ring to it. No, no, wait, I've got it. Combine the two and you've got Bluebird."

"That's a nice one, Varric," I commend him, somewhat out of breath, "How are you?"

"I think that should be my line," the dwarf raises his eyebrows, pointedly looking from me to the advancing group of thuggish soldiers. "What do they got against you? Anything I should know?"

"Nothing that can't be discussed in a different location," gripping the dwarf's arm, I tug him in another direction. "Let's go somewhere more private."

"Woah, woah. I appreciate the interest," Varric chuckles good-naturedly, "but I'm a taken man."

Snorting, I roll my eyes, "Not likethat, Varric. Wouldn't dream of getting between you and Bianca."At least, not when it comes to the crossbow. The woman, on the other hand, I make no promises."I just need to talk through some stuff." He gets the idea, thankfully, leading the way straight to the tavern. It's not exactly private, and It's not the best place for a pounding head, but it's warm and the chances of being heard over the din are slim.

"What'll it be, Bluebird? How strong do you like your ale?" Varric asks, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place.

"Um," I slip into the seat across from him, "I don't really drink."

He gestures at the barkeep for a single meal. "What? Don't like to loosen up every now and again?"

"There are other ways to relax than numbing my mind, Varric."Not to mention I'm still recovering from a concussion.

"To each their own," the dwarf shrugs, accepting his mug with a dashing wink at the tavern maid. His voice lowers to one only I can hear through the chatter of conversation. "Now, about those soldiers. What's going on?"

I give him a brief overview of everything that's happened since meeting Dirk last night. At the end of my tale, he whistles long and low. "So you set a drunkard's trousers on fire, got a concussi-whatever, and now you think Gropey has a vendetta against you. On top of all that, you're a mage now. I don't claim to know anything about Fade crap, but Icantell you the Seeker won't like this one bit. Does make for a decent story, though."

"That's about right, yeah. But, on another note, your nickname for Dirk issomuch better than mine."

Raising his eyebrows, he says, "I'm almost scared to ask what it was."

"Prick Face."

Varric chortles, taking a swig of ale. "I'd say they're about equally magnificent." With a more serious expression, he adds, "I'd be on guard if I were you. I'll keep an eye out, but I'm not exactly in the best position to help much at the moment. Afraid the Seeker doesn't much trust me. For good reason, really." He wrinkles his nose, taking a more contemplative sip from his mug.

"I can relate to that."

"It's not really the same thing with you," he sighs. "The Seeker and I have our own history. As long asyoudon't lie to her, well, don't getcaughtlying to her, you should be fine."

"I'll keep that in mind," I nod, snatching an apple and a wedge of cheese from his platter. I want to leave. The longer I stay here, the greater the probability Dirk and his cronies might show up. "I gotta go, Varric."

"I'll come with you, just to your door," the dwarf says, following me from the tavern. I don't object. Bianca is strapped to his back, and I wouldn't mind the extra protection.

I leave as fast as I can, scanning the path ahead and keeping to the shadows. When I make it to the Herald's accommodations without incident, I feel a little idiotic. Varric lifts his hand in mock salute, "See ya, Bluebird."

"Later, Varric." As silently as possible, I ease the door shut with a click and fasten the latch.

"You. What happened? Is the Breach closed?" The sound of Kaaras' voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I whirl around, seeing vibrant purple eyes, surprisingly clear despite likely having only recently awakened.

I offer her the apple and hunk of cheese, which she takes gratefully. "Er, no, Kaaras, but you did stabilize it, so that buys us time to properly seal it. On the plus side, your hand is no longer trying to eat you alive."

"That's an improvement, at least," Kaaras agrees, biting a huge chunk out of the apple. "How long have I been out?"

I add another log to the low-burning fire, "Including the day we fought the Pride demon, this would be the third night. I imagine Cassandra, Leliana, and the others will want to speak to you, but they don't know you've wakened. If I were you, I'd take advantage of that fact and sleep until tomorrow morning."

"I've spent more time unconscious than otherwise, lately."

"I doubt such luck will continue."

She grunts noncommittally, scratching at her scalp. "Is that a new shirt?"

"Ha, yeah, um, funny story. It's long. Sleep now. I'll tell you later."

Kaaras shrugs, yawning. In doing so, she finally processes her new Quizzyjamas. "When didthis happen?"

"Guess they figured their Maker-sent savior shouldn't be dressed like a mercenary."

"At this rate, you'll make court jester by Satinalia," she grins, settling back on her mattress. She's out before her head even hits her pillow.Boy is she going to be in for a surprise.

About an hour later, just as I'm about to take my boots off, someone forcefully bangs on the door. "In the name of Andraste, open up!" A gruff voice bellows from outside. Kaaras slumbers on.She must really be tired.

"Jeez, I'm coming, I'm coming." Unlatching the door and slipping outside, I blink at the pair of men, armor glinting dully under the moon.Templars? What the hell?"What do you want?"

"You, if the description is accurate," a Templar has me clapped in shackles before I realize what he's doing."You're to be taken immediately to Val Royeaux for trial."

I can't decide whether to gape at him or at the restraints. "On what charges? We've discussed this.Thoroughly.I didn't kill the Divine."

"You used magic in an attack that killed an innocent citizen of Haven."

"What?Killed?He got off in better condition than I did!"I furrow my brows, scanning the area for an explanation. I don't know why I'm surprised to see a smug looking Dirk and two of his minions locked in discussion with Chancellor Roderick, but I am. "That's the guy, and he is very muchalive."When the chancellor and I make eye contact, he turns abruptly, stalking away with a swish of Chantry robes.Oh, I see. Can't bring me in on the premise of killing the Divine because of Cassandra's intervention, so he'll jump at the opportunity to use anything he can get against me."He nearlyrapeda girl, and knockedmeunconscious. I washelping. If anyth-"

A frigid blast of energy shreds through my being, sending me to me knees, gasping for air. Everything feels more solid, too solid: the dirt, the air, and my clothes, almost stiflingly so. I claw at frozen earth, desperate to make it bend, make it soft.

"So you admit to using magic to attack him. That's all we needed," one of the Templars grunts, jamming a balled up piece of cloth in my mouth and painfully prying my jaw apart in the process. It's soaked with a bitter liquid that fills my nose and coats my tongue. The pair of them seize my arms with vice-like grips, attempting to push me along. I dig my heels into frozen dirt, struggling to escape their grasp. The one to my right stops and before I've fully processed what he's about to do, his gloved fist has already connected with my stomach. I double over, coughing through the makeshift gag. That, plus the strange weakening in my limbs, just makes it all the easier for them to get me to the stables, my hands fastened around a horse's saddle horn, and my feet tied to the stirrups.

Straining until I feel the individual tendons in my neck, I expend as much willpower as I'm able into summoning flames, as that seems to be the magic that comes most easily. No matter how hard I push, however, the magic hovers just out of reach.That cold blast of energy earlier, was I Silenced?

They might actually get away with this. Fuck. This is a medieval setting. In Val Royeaux they could torture me they could hang me this isn't good this isn't good this is bad this is very bad help. Help! HELP!I shriek into the silent void in my head.

There is no answer. No snarky comeback, no fallback plan, no self-deprecating insult, no assurance. There is only a pounding heart, cold sitting deep in my bones, and icy tears dripping down my cheeks.

Haven slips farther and farther away.


	10. An Inquisition Reborn

Something feels wrong, missing. Even with closed eyes I can sense it is so. Sitting up, I allow my vision to adjust to the dimness of the cottage. The fireplace is just ash and shriveled husks of bark. The few candles scattered around the room and the small fire that had been burning in a wall sconce have gone out. There, the latch on the door, it's undone. _I'm_ certain I remember Ross locking it before I went to sleep. Perhaps she went to fetch something.

The door opens and an elven woman enters carrying a crate of potions and oils. Startled, she drops it and falls to her knees, blubbering about what's happened and where I am. Most of what she says, Ross had relayed to me last night. She informs me that Cassandra awaits me in the Chantry shortly before she flees into the village. Muffled through wooden walls I hear her cry, "she's awake! She's awoken!"

I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face. I'm a Vashoth, member of the Valo-kas mercenary band, not some divine object for Andrastians to blindly revere. My greatsword leans against the wall by the door and I gratefully sling it over my shoulder. The weight of the weapon comforts me, as does the knowledge that I could defend myself if need be. That said, Ross' weapons are tucked neatly away near a wooden shelf. It seems she is more trusting than I am. Strange, considering the both of us awoke imprisoned and accused of massacring Chantry officials.

It was surprising to have a human who, other than being understandably disoriented by waking up in shackles, had not first looked at me with fear or anything resembling distrust in their eyes. She was completely at ease with a battle party that barely knew one another's names, calm in the face of the chaotic unknown. _I_ feel that we will become fast friends, this Ross and I. Gripping the handle on the door, I yank it open, determined that I will track down that Seeker, Cassandra.

Time seems to slow, every person within sight looks up, catches sight of the glowing mark and moves to stand in an eerie semicircle a good distance from me, leaving a narrow path to walk through. They cross arms over their chests, bowing respectfully and murmuring praise to the _Herald_ of Andraste."What? What are you doing? Stop! I mean, stop. Please. You've got the wrong person." If anything, the muttering about modesty and miracles only getsworse. _Ross_ wasn't joking? Is that why they dressed me like this? In a manner more befitting a prophet's messenger than a Vashoth?

I look down, not being able to stand the weight of their stares. The dirt is not uninteresting. Underneath the tracks one would expect from normal village life there are rather obvious signs of struggle. Wildly upturned earth in a relatively straight trail indicates someone was digging their heels in to stop assailants, presumably the sets of prints to either side of the center pair. It starts a short distance from my door and continues a good length before morphing into tracks more akin to that of an injured person being half dragged, half supported between two other people. A pit drops in my stomach as I realize the trail leads out of the village, through closed gates.

All signs point to one thing: someone was kidnapped, if not killed. And, if I had to hazard a guess, that someone is Ross.

Clenching my fists, I wander through the village, investigating firepits, the apothecary, a few shops, and the tavern. If anyone knows who I speak of, they call her by different names: healer, apothecary's assistant, or that woman who climbed on top of a Pride demon's head to shout orders at us. So few even realize that she is the same woman who fell from the Fade. I am hard-pressed to find people that even remember there _was_ another person that fell from the Fade. I seek out Varric and Solas and, quite by chance, find them both around a cooking pot, partaking of runny eggs and dried jerky. Neither of them have seen Ross since yesterday.

"Come to think of it, she was telling me she'd gotten into a spot of trouble with some soldier. I'd talk with Curly if the Seeker can't help," Varric suggests.

Solas, having raised a long finger and closed his eyes, opens them once more, alarmed. "I do not sense her aura anywhere nearby. I do not think she could have learned to conceal it in such a short time."

"Aura?" I furrow my brow. "Isn't that only something that mages have?"

"In the Fade," the apostate explains, "some unknown event occurred, the result of which led to her receiving magical abilities. It is not so far-fetched. You now have the mark, after all."

"Yeah, she told me about that too. This shit keeps getting weirder," Varric mutters, looking at his plate like he wishes it would transform into a tankard of ale.

Thanking them, I decide to continue all the way up to the Chantry and meet with Cassandra. This _will_ be addressed. Burning incense and an almost obscene number of candles fill my senses. Sisters mutter about being ignored by the even bigger Chantry in Val Royeaux. I hear the name "Chancellor Roderick" on many people's lips. _Chancellor_ Roderick,I muse, _I_ remember him. Kept telling Cassandra to retreat, that sealing the Breach was futile. Bullshit.

Speaking of, that's who's locked in an argument with Cassandra about me, if I'm not mistaken. Upon entering, the chancellor first tries to arrest me, and when that fails, he accuses me of purposely failing to seal the Breach correctly. I…think. It's difficult to keep up with his raving.

Cassandra rushes to my defense, at least. "Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face."

The redhead in the chainmail and purple hood, Leliana, steps in, declaring their intentions to hunt down whoever was really responsible for killing the Divine. Someoneclosewhom no one expected.

Roderick's face twists furiously. "I am a suspect?"

"You," Leliana narrows her eyes, "and many others."

Crossing his arms, Roderick scowls, "But _not_ the prisoners."

"They should no longer be viewed as such. I heard Most Holy call out to this woman for help. The other was in no position to do anything," the Seeker points out.

"So their survival? That thingon her hand? All a coincidence?"

"Providence. The Maker sent them to us in our darkest hour." Cassandra draws up to her full height. There is no questioning her belief in her own words.

Oh. No. No no. No. "You can't honestly believe I'm some sort of chosen one. I'm a qunari, Vashoth, a _mercenary_ ,if that's somehow escaped your notice."

Her dark eyes are warm, shining, sure of themselves. "No matter what you are or what you believe, you were exactly what we needed when we needed it."

Leliana's eyes, on the other hand, are sharp and calculating. "The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it."

Roderick objects to the Sister's claim, but before he can get very far with it the Seeker slams a massive book on the table. "Do you know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." Advancing on the chancellor, she continues, jabbing a gloved finger at him to punctuate each point. "We will close the Breach. We will find those responsible. And we _will_ restore order. With or without your approval."

Roderick, sensing his defeat, storms out of the room, leaving the two women to fill me in on what exactly being an Inquisition entails. We have no Chantry support, no real financial backing, and no real allies. Their goals sound pretty reasonable from how I understand it: making all the weird shit go back to not being weird and maybe even making things less shitty than they were before. "That's something I can get behind, but there's still something I need to talk about."

"Go on," Leliana bids me to continue.

"Ross is gone. I've looked for her in the village. At best, no one has seen her since yesterday. Solas can't sense her aura, and there are extremely suspicious tracks outside my house."

"I had heard reports of three missing horses," Leliana murmurs, expression rapidly darkening. "I had not thought…"

"What do you mean, _aura_?" Cassandra leans toward me.

"Solas said something about her getting magical abilities in the Fade."

The Seeker shakes her head disbelievingly. "That is impossible!"

"It was the _physical Fade_ , Cassandra," Leliana points out. "Who knows what is possible anymore?"

"Do you have any idea who could have taken her?" I ask.

Cassandra grimaces. "Even if I did, we have no way of knowing where they are going."

"That is not _completely_ true," Leliana corrects, a cunning gleam in her eye. "We may not know who physically abducted her as of yet, but there is only one person who might have orchestrated such a thing." A slow smile creeps across her face, one that would make even the most despicable of men think twice before crossing her. "I think there are some things our dear Chancellor has forgotten to mention."


	11. Thanks, Adan

I suppose that I must have fallen asleep at some point, considering that I wake up to the gentle rolling of a horse. The sky is a slightly lighter tint of grey as it peeks through the trees above me.Trees? How?My eyes are not mistaken, however. Most of the snow characteristic to the land around Haven has vanished. It's not nearly as cold, either.

There, you've successfully identified the one and only positive thing about this situation. Do you feel better now?

A little. It's good to have you back.

It's good to be back. Now let's focus on getting out of here.

Let's see. The shackles fastened around my wrists are made of iron, pretty secure, and I have nothing on me to assist in picking the lock. A key. I'll need a key.Aha. There. The Templar that's riding on the roan in front. There's one hanging from his belt.The man–I'll call him Knuckles until I get his real name–has broad shoulders and a massive bald patch right in the center of his head. If memory serves, that Templar was the one who punched me in the stomach last night. Not a nice fellow, but I'll have to manage to swipe that key from him somehow.

I can't see the man behind me, but I can hear his clinking armor and the snorting of his horse. I know he's a Templar, and I know he helped Knuckles. I think I'll just call him Accomplice.

That balled up rag soaked in, well, let's call it a depressant, is still stuffed inside my mouth. I think its potency has worn off some, considering I'm capable of stringing two sentences together. I don't dare attempt to reach for my magic because not only do I have no real clue as to what I would do with it, but these are _Templars_. They'd be sure to sense it, and be even more sure to, er,remedythe situation. That means another dose of the drug in the best case situation, and relinquishing the awareness I now possess.Fuck that.

"Hey, I think the mage's awake! Let's pick up the pace, yeah?" Accomplice's voice splits through the crisp air. Casting a dark glance at me, Knuckles jerks his head in a motion that could, at least among particularly subjective circles, be construed as a nod.

And pick up the pace they do, because now we are galloping down dirt paths overshadowed by arching tree branches, just within sight of a contrastingly mellow river. I've ridden a full-sized horse only once before in my life and this is a vastly different scenario. Bouncing roughly in the saddle through unknown terrain, unaccustomed to the motion, I am suddenly the tiniest bit thankful to be so securely tied down.

We ride for hours, alternating between a swift trot and a gallop until the sun nears its zenith in the sky and my tailbone is well on its way to bruising. We make camp at the river's edge, taking advantage of the area to water the horses. Accomplice unties me, and once I've awkwardly disentangled myself from the stirrups, he also removes the drugged gag. After hours of being forced open, my jaw and teeth are incredibly tender. I'm not going to be able to eat anything solid for several hours at least.

All in all, I've had more than enough time to break down my situation.

I need the key on Knuckles' belt to get out of these shackles. I already have a horse, three actually, should a situation arise during which I can take my pick. I'm being taken to Val Royeaux to await a trial. By trial, that means execution. So, if I want to survive, and I do find myself fond of the idea, I need to get away as quickly and safely as possible, preferably before I'm in Orlais. From the years playing Origins where the entire world map was Ferelden, I know that provided we get on the Imperial Highway, we'll ride along the length of Lake Calenhad, cross through Honnleath, past the entranceto Orzammar, and bypass a few other human cities before crossing the border. Then it's a long road through Orlais before Val Royeaux. I have time.

Or we could be headed for a Ferelden port city. Those do exist, you know, and would make the journey much shorter. Your first priority is to figure out how to get that key from Knuckles.

Knuckles, Knuckles, Knuckles, what am I going to do with you?

I watch over the next hour as he withdraws a deck of cards from a saddlebag and strikes up a game with Accomplice. They eat and drink together, offering me a cup of broth and a few sips from a water skin. I don't miss the dull glint of a flask as Knuckles moves to hand me the broth.Yeah, I doubt that's alcohol.Taking a subtle sniff, I detect a faint trace of the bitterness I know all too well.Whether or not I actually drink it, that's the question.I catch the odd casual glances from each of them.Can't pretend to drink and then dump it out. They're not as inattentive as they seem.

Straight and to the point, then. "So you're going to give me another dose of that drug."

"Either you drink the magebane, or we force some down your throat and put the gag back in," Knuckles orders, not looking up from his cards.

Magebane. That should only affect my magic, right? Maybe the scatterbrained effect was only because of shock.

That makes this a different situation altogether.

"If I drink it, can we talk?" I raise a brow, thinking fast. Maybe I can convince them to let me go somehow. Not that they'd have any reason to agree. I don't exactly have negotiating power at the moment.

"What could we possibly have to say to amurderer?"Knuckles scoffs, swiping a card from Accomplice's hand.

"Wait," a half grin flickers across my lips before I can help it, "you both think Iactuallymurdered someone? Did Chancellor Roderick tell you that?"

"Well we have the charges all written down on that scroll, don't we?" Accomplice says, only to be elbowed in the ribs by Knuckles. Awfully hard to effectively elbow someone through plate armor, but I won't judge.

Sighing, I roll my eyes. "Fine." With a grimace, I toss back the embittered contents of the cup, emphasizing the motion of swallowing. Considering their wide-eyed stares, I don't think they actually expected me to follow through. Perhaps I hadn't noticed it up in the Frostbacks, but the magebane makes my body go cold, numb, like I couldn't grab onto my magic even if I could gather the strength to reach out for it. I shake myself.It's not important right now."Now, fellas, allow me to fill you in on whatreallyhappened."

\--

"No reason for us to believe a single word outta your poisonous mouth, mage," Knuckles scowls, but his heart doesn't seem quite in it.

"Look, maybe you don't follow Commander Rutherford, per se, but you have to at least respect him, right? After Kinloch? After standing up to a Knight-Commander gone mad?"

"He's no Templar anymore," Accomplice puts in, quiet. "Turned his back on the Order and took a bunch of our brothers and sisters with him."

"Does that make him any less worthy of your respect? Let me tell you, if I were to speak to him about what's happened, I most certainly would not be en route to Val Royeaux. He would have heard out the claims of all parties involved before coming to a reasonable decision. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Accomplice asks.

"Because Cullen Rutherford cares about doing what's right," I say, settling my sweaty palms on my knees. "You two were in Haven for the Conclave, which was a _peace_ talk, and you aren't roaming around the Hinterlands, leaderless, and murdering rabid apostates. You aren't all that bad, from what I gather."

"So what?" Knuckles grinds out.

"So what?" I repeat, smiling lazily. "So,would you rather follow a Chantry underling making a desperate grab for power, or arealman? One who actually respects the will of the Maker rather than using it to manipulate others. One who can earn trust rather than barter for it with the lives of innocents."

"You talk real nice, miss," Accomplice mumbles, shuffling through his cards.

"Shut it, you," Knuckles glares at Accomplice before jabbing a threatening finger at me. "Mage, I don't want to hear another word from you until we reach Val Royeaux and we hand you over to the clerics. Got that?"

So close. So fucking close."Yes, ser."

"You deaf, mage? I said not another word."

Looking him dead in the eyes, I convey the loudest mentalfuck youI have ever given before flopping on the ground and turning on my side. They only had the one tent and that was for them at all times. One would sleep while the other would be on watch in case I got past the magebane and decided to burn the whole forest down or something.

The two of them sit in silence for a time, sluggishly carrying on their card game under the noonday sun. Eventually, I drift into a fickle state of semi-consciousness, magebane, shackles, and all.

\--

Two days later, having been riding in a daze near the southwestern edge of Lake Calenhad, it takes me far too long to notice the spiny leafed bushes with tiny yellow flowers growing along the side of the road.Those were in Adan's scrolls, weren't they? I'm pretty sure they were.

Oh.

OH!

"I need to take a piss!" I shout when I know we're nearing midday break. Turns out the "no speaking till Val Royeaux" thing wasn't completely serious, but a warning that my words shouldn't be leading them toward existential crisis.

Knuckles curses, turning to face me on his horse. "Didn't you go earlier?"

"That was about six hours ago," I point out, trying not to let excitement bleed into my voice.

"Fine. Two minutes."

"Turn around, then," I scold, falling from the horse thanks to the iron manacles.

Knuckles scoffs. "What, so you can run away? Ha."

"You could chase me down easily," I roll my eyes, getting to my feet. "If it makes you feel better we can just make awkward eye contact while you listen to me pee." To prove my point, I pull down my trousers once I'm positioned behind a bush, gaze intense and unwavering until he clears his throat and looks away.I win.

Now free of their stares, I grab a few flowered stems from the plant and stuff them in my boot.

Don't you remember? The roots work as a poison. Why only put them to sleep and risk them hunting you down again when you could makesurethey won't?

Because they aren't currently trying to kill me. They haven't beat me, or been unnecessarily cruel.

They are, in fact, literally escorting you to your own execution.

Trial.

What's the difference in this world?

I'm not going to sink to their level. I'll leave them be.

Rosalind—

No. I'm not killing anyone, at least not in such an underhanded way. I mean, I'll probably have to kill people at some point, but that time is not now.

Tugging my breeches back into place, I awkwardly clamber back into the saddle.

There's never been a more model prisoner. Tossed back the magebane spiked stew they gave me with only a grimace, and I've made sure each one of us has had a bowl of the regular stuff. They're distracted with their card game and I'm operating under the guise of getting seconds when I squeeze the excess stem juice into the stew. It's about now that I usually turn my back to them and try to sleep, but this time I'm wide awake.

Within half an hour, their breathing has deepened to the point I feel safe flipping over. I sigh in relief. They're asleep. Deeply asleep and sprawled on top of each other. I creep up to Knuckles, hesitantly at first, but becoming more confident as my hand closes around the key at his belt. I have to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to stop them from shaking as I slide the key into the lock and twist until it clicks open.

The shackles fall to the forest floor. I touch my wrists, chafed and blistered and rubbed raw, but free for the first time in days. I feel myself go a little misty-eyed.

No. No time for shock yet. Get out first.

Right. Gotta be smart about this.

Before backing away from Knuckles, something urges me to take the flask of magebane from him as well, putting it in one of my horse's saddlebags. There's no way I'll be able to figure out the Templars' tent well enough to pack it up and I don't know how long they'll be knocked out for. I move some extra food from their horses to mine, though I leave some on the grass near the crackling campfire so they don't starve. I don't plan on leaving the horses here. That's pretty much an open invitation to catch up with me.

Invitation...that's right. Chancellor Roderick's order.

I search through the saddlebags on the Templars' horses, eventually finding a small scroll bound with a Chantry seal. I go to open it before remembering that I still can't fucking read. Sighing, I tuck the scroll into one of my own horse's saddlebags, untie all three steeds, and set off down the path from which I came.


	12. Home Again

My heart's still pounding hours after leaving the Templars behind and I can't say whether it's due to fear or bursts of adrenaline. For the first hour or so, I check behind me every other minute, flinching at snapping twigs and animals skittering through the underbrush. When the wind rustles through the leaves, I flick the reins over my palomino, urging it onward at an invigorated pace. The other two horses keep up with me, which is a relief. I would have felt bad leaving them wandering the forests of...the Hinterlands? I'm not quite there yet. Does this area even have a name? Maybe just 'Some Random-Ass Woodland Area in Ferelden'. Yeah. That has a nice ring to it.

I ride through the night, only stopping to let the horses drink and graze a little. Each time I return to the road, I mount a different animal, not wanting to make one horse bear my weight the whole time when I don't have to. I'm more careful once the sun sets, wary of treacherous tree roots, snakes, and accidentally straying from the path. The chirp of crickets, hoot of owls, and deep-throated croak of frogs coax me from my jittery paranoia, reminding me of the camping expeditions I used to go on as a kid.

Something about night itself is comforting, like a blanket that muffles everything but our very most basic selves. Life is simpler when it's bathed in moonlight.

Once, when I'm crossing through a large clearing, I have to get off my horse and just stop.Thosestars… so different from the familiar Big Dipper or Ursa Major, but absolutely breathtaking nonetheless. Without a single electric light on the continent to dull them, they fill the sky in swirling patterns, twinkling mischievously at the land below. Bursts of space dust shimmer in bands, faint strokes added to an already dazzling canvas. My fingers find themselves skimming along the stars inked into my own skin.Just wait until Dad sees this. He could bring out his telescope and we can make cookies or something, just like we used to.I reach for my phone to text him before remembering.

You realize that, since it's more probable this is reality than not, you'll never see any of your family, any of your friends, ever again for as long as you live. How does that make you feel?

We're the same person. You tell me.

I wonder, do they think you're dead? Abducted? Have they had a funeral yet, or maybe no one yet realizes anything is wrong. How much time has passed there? Does time even flow the same as here? If so, you've been gone for over nine days. That means you missed finals. You'll never get your Masters degree.

We both know I would have passed finals.

Yes, avoid thinking about everything else I said. Wouldn't want to do something silly like facing reality.

You know me, always dreaming.

It's a shame you won't get to go on that trip to Galveston with Dr. Powell.

Shit, I forgot about that! We were going to look at the effects aquatic hypoxia had on the ecosystem, as well as how it impacted the lifestyles of the coastal community. It sounded so exciting.

As exciting as drugging a pair of Templars and fleeing on horseback? I think not.

Writing observations about eutrophication and the resulting algal blooms that are depriving the water of oxygen is twice as thrilling, all jokes aside.

With my temporary aversion to sleep and Turbo Maximum Efficiency Horse-swapping System, time flies by. When I get hungry, I eat some nuts and berries from one of the saddlebags. At one point, I consider trying to use magic to hunt, as I can sense the magebane has worn off and I feel reasonably certain I could manage a cooking fire of all things. My only problem is that, while Icouldbluster around until I killed a nug or a fennec, I don't have the knowledge or the tools to go about preparing it.

Nuts and berries will do.

When I finally arrive at Haven, having found my way by following the massive beacon that is the stabilized Breach, it is early morning and I am exhausted as fuck. The gates have been recently opened, with a few soldiers already sparring outside. Some of them already sport the tell-tale green of Inquisition armor. Harritt and the other blacksmiths hammer away at weapons, horseshoes, and other miscellaneous items. Cullen Rutherford himself stands near the gates, squinting at a report and nodding along to whatever the man next to him is suggesting.

I ride up to the stables, which are much much larger than they were in-game, and leave them with a startled man in scouting armor. "Why do you have three horses? We're in short enough supply as it is!" I retrieve the wax sealed scroll and flask of magebane from the saddlebags, only offering a tired grin and jaunty wave before staggering away. I'malmostthrough the gates before Cullen passes me by.Damn, that man knows how to work an English accent.

"Get them started on the new drills, Rylen. I believe Cassandra is requesting my presence in the War Room." Once his second in command has departed, he looks toward the Chantry with a sigh.

"Cull—Commander Rutherford?" I touch a steel-plated arm, resisting the urge to pet that fluffy red fur he always has on.

"What is it?" he turns, reverting back to professional mode.

I smile faintly, "can I go with you?"

"What for?" his brow furrows. "The War Room is not for civilian matters. If you are here to join the Inquisition, see Rylen, Ambassador Montilyet, or Sister Leliana at a later time."

"Commander," I prevent him from continuing. "Listen, my entire body hurts, I smell like a pile of manure on a summer day, I haven't slept in maybe forty-two hours, and I haven't eaten much over the past five days. Can't I at least expect to be heard out?"

"What are you—" realization dawns over his features. "Oh, Maker. Areyouthe woman we sent that search party after?"

"You sent a search party after me?" I find myself touched. Even if their reasons were purely practical, the fact that they even bothered sends a warm fuzzy feeling to my stomach.

"We did," Cullen nods, gesturing for me to accompany him. I do, and we walk up the path together to the Chantry. "You have been the talk of the town, you know. News circulated quickly that you were missing. We still don't quite know how word got out, but it did." My discomfort at entering the incense-filled Chantry must be obvious because Cullen keeps looking at me oddly.Maybe he also thinks I killed someone with my demonic mage-fire.He pushes open the War Room door to various greetings, then I slip in after him.

The war table is massive, figurines scattered across a yellowed map of Thedas. "Ross!" Kaaras' violet eyes widen disbelievingly. "The scouts already caught up to you? It should have taken several more days at least," her head swivels toward Leliana for confirmation, "right?"

"Yes," the spymaster dips her head, narrowing her eyes in appraising fashion. "We had hoped to intercept you by the time you reached Val Royeaux if possible. What happened?"

I deliver a summarized explanation, speaking about Dirk's collusion with the chancellor to frame me for a murder, the pair of Templars, and my escape due to that sleeping plant.

"I know the man you speak of," Cullen frowns, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "He is often drunk and very, ah, free with women."

"If by free you mean forceful and indifferent to consent, then yes, I'd say he'sveryfree with women," my eyes flash, piercing shards of blue glass.

"Chancellor Roderick has admitted to having a hand in the affair, though he is adamant his actions were justified. Do you happen to have any evidence to bring truth to your claim, Mistress, ah," Josephine falters, stricken. "It seems in our haste we have forgotten introductions. I am Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition."

"Ross. Short for Rosalind," I reply, "It's a pleasure to meet you." Setting the silver flask and slightly crumpled scroll on the edge of the war table, I add, "And yes, Josephine, I do have proof. Probably."

The Vashoth snorts, "Probablyis not very reassuring, you know."

"Magebane," Cullen muses as he sniffs the contents of the container. "Where could they have gotten this? Since the war began, most of the stockpiles have been ransacked."

Leliana, meanwhile, takes the scroll, breaking the seal and quickly scanning lines of text. "Yes, right here," she clears her throat."I hereby send this heinous blasphemer, already a prime suspect in the death of Divine Justinia, to the Val Royeaux Chantry so that she might be judged swiftly and justly for the magical assault and murder of Orlan Mansker. This was witnessed by one Dirk Sturgeon as well as two other citizens of Haven. I trust her execution might serve as an example to those who stand against the Maker's will. Regards, Chancellor Roderick Asignon."

That. Mother. Fucker.

Josephine rifles through a stack of papers, pursing her lips. "Just as I thought, there is no Orlan Mansker listed in our registry."

"That bureaucratdaresto make up such a farce? He would have had you killed in cold blood!" Cassandra's expression darkens; storm clouds are brewing behind those eyes. "I cannot abide this."

Cullen rubs the nape of his neck, sighing, "I will handle Sturgeon's punishment."

"Are you removing him from the Inquisition? Because it's anextremelybad idea to let him stay," Kaaras inserts.

Cullen half-heartedly protests, "We aren't in the position to refuse—"

"I know a mercenary band isn't quite the same thing as the Inquisition reborn, Commander, but not even the Valo-kas would have allowed someone who would sell out their own to stay. Maintaining a decent reputation is difficult enough."

"A valid point," he concedes. "He will be dismissed come tomorrow morning, unless you wish to question him."

"I would," Leliana says. "I would also like to—" the door flies open, revealing a purple-faced Chancellor Roderick.

"What is the meaning of this?" He hisses, jabbing a finger at me.

Exhausted, and thus dangerously low on 'fucks given' levels, I bare my teeth at him in a hollow imitation of a grin, "Thisis a pronoun used to indicate a person or object that is close to the speaker."

"I suppose you killed those Templars too, eh? I knew I should have sent an entire regiment with you," he continues, ignoring my asinine comment. "This is what comes of trusting mages."

"You can stop this charade, Chancellor. All I fucking did was set a prick's clothes on fire," I snap, sick of this bullshit justice system. "You know why? Because he was going torapea girl. That shit doesn't fly with me, shouldn'tfly withanyone. I don't give a rat's ass if they're Chasind or Orlesian nobility, it is not fucking okay. Just because some asshole's pathetic little ego got a boo-boo doesn't mean I need to be fucking executed. Do yougraspthat you weresending me to my death?" A metal plated glove wraps my arm in a firm grip, bringing my attention to the blazing glow emanating from my skin. It's Cullen, trying to snap me back to reality.Shut up, Rosalind.No one needs your meltdowns.I close my eyes and inhale deeply, imagining all the anger and passion coalescing into a ball of energy, then letting it leave my body with the air from my lungs.

When I open my eyes again, I do not miss the amount of hands clutching weapons. The Chancellor's face has gone completely white. When I speak, it is with utter calm, nearly indistinguishable from a Tranquil's monotone. "Chancellor. I have killed no one. The two Templars that accompanied me are still alive. I will be staying here. I will help the Inquisition, and I suggest you leave. I am tired and you are one of the few people I do not wish to see right now. Goodbye."

"Of all thenerve," he splutters, drawing himself up. "You cannot tellmewhat to do."

"We know the truth," Cassandra replaces her half-drawn blade. "You no longer have jurisdiction over either of these women, Chancellor. Now, if you will excuse us, we have plans to sort out."

Knowing argument is futile, Roderick scowls, stalking out of the room. Cassandra shuts the door after him.

"Thank you, Commander," I say, tone still bland. Startled, he relinquishes my arm.

"That is some scary shit, Ross," Kaaras shifts, uneasy.

"Yes, I am aware that I need to work on controlling my power. I did actually want to discuss that with you all."

"No, I mean that mood shift. Can you just, uh, switch back?"

"Oh," I blink, "eventually."

"I don't believe I've ever seen a mage reign in their emotions so drastically before," Cullen mutters, "or use such foul language against a Chantry member. Though I am glad that you calmed yourself. Explaining to the Chantry why Chancellor Roderick is now a pile of ashes would not have gone over smoothly."

I shrug. "Understanding how to ignore emotion is something I have learned through time. It is useful for emergencies."

"You meant what you told the Chancellor, I hope, about joining the Inquisition." Leliana's words are more statement than question.

"Yes."

"Good," she relaxes slightly. "Give Josephine your information for the registrar, and later you can discuss what you will be doing for the next few weeks."

"Mm hmm."

"Arrange lessons with a mage while you're at it," Cullen suggests. "We don't need a repeat of the past week's incidents."

"What is your full name?" Josephine asks, brandishing her quill.

"Rosalind Amelia Clarke."

She scratches some things out on parchment. "And this is the correct spelling?" she asks, turning the page so I can see.

"It looks fine."I still can't read. That will have to be addressed eventually. I don't exactly behave like a scruffy nerf-herder, so it'll be hard to explain away illiteracy.

"Excellent. Where are you from?"

"I would prefer not to say."

"Something to hide?" Leliana arches a slender brow.

"Not particularly. It's just that I've moved from place to place all my life and I don't have a single living family member in Thedas, so I don't see the relevance of my place of origin. If I had to guess, I'd say I was born in Denerim."

"I...see," Josephine murmurs, writing down notes next to my name. "Why were you at the Conclave?"

"I had nowhere better to be. It was supposed to be history in the making, and that's about as intriguing as it gets."

"You were only there because you wereintrigued?"Kaaras asks, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Forgive my asking, Lady Rosalind, but how old are you?"

"Twenty two, and I am by no means a lady."

"That is all for now. Thank you for your cooperation."

The Seeker frowns. "You look as though you could use some rest."

I pause a long moment, processing, "Yes." Then I make my escape, tottering out of the Chantry to me and Kaaras' shared cottage. Inside is a straw mattress off to the side with a basket resting on top of it. It's filled with bath oils, ointments, and creams. There's one jar that's filled with a gritty minty substance. I hope it's Thedosian toothpaste, because that's what I use it as. It works reasonably well, for what it's worth.

Before I settle down on the mattress, I retrieve one of my daggers, placing it so that the hilt sticks out neatly from beneath the straw.

Never again will I be so careless.


	13. The One-balled Wonder

I hurl myself upright with a gasp, half expecting forest soil and gruff Templars. Neither of those things are here. I am on a mattress in a house with shelves and clay earthenware and papers scattered about. There is no light shining from beneath the door. It is dark outside. Kaaras is sprawled across her bed, cocooned in a thick quilt and snoring. I am safe.

My thoughts are a muted chaos, they argue and speak over each other. I have had far too much excitement for one week and I think that now I am prepared to move forward. From now on, I'll have a weapon somewhere on my person at all times. Frankly, it was stupid of me to go without one in the first place.Dad would be so disappointed.I'll keep working, keep my head down as much as possible, stay the fuck away from Solas. And I meanstay the fuck awayfrom Solas. He's clever and cunning, certainly a potential threat, with a melodic voice and ugh this is already difficult.

What if you get dragged along to the Hinterlands? Solas will be there. You'll have no choice but to talk. Wouldn't it be better to be friendly? You gave him gratitude porridge, remember? If you ignore him, the egg might take it the wrong way. Besides, we both know he has one of the most interesting perspectives on life in all of Thedas. It'd be a shame to miss out.

You mean the perspective that killing everyone now will somehow make up for killing onlymostlyeveryone hundreds of years ago. That's my all time favorite bit of logic.I sigh, scrubbing at my eyes.

I said interesting, not morally flawless. Do you forget the way he ripped apart half of the lore you'd learned about spirits and the Fade in just a few sentences? How you stared at your computer screen for minutes on end, marveling at how the devs forced you to apply your own real world reasoning toward inaccuracies and contradictions in history books and religious texts to agame?

It's just so confusing. I'm thinking that maybe if I just behave like we're reasonably amiable co-workers that'll be fine.

Rosalind, think for a second here. Really think. You have within your grasp something you've wanted since the moment you let the Dread Wolf take your arm and hightail it through a mirror. You could talk him out of it. Somehow there has to be a way.

What makes you think I could convince him to change course if Lavellan couldn't?I stretch a bare foot from atop my mattress to the cold stone floor, allowing the rest of my body to follow in a fluid movement. I arch my back and extend my leg at the most vertical angle that I can, feeling muscles pleasantly pull and stretch with the action.

Stanley. Remember his whole 'stop the Dread Wolf and also the Blight it's no big deal' thing?

How could I forget.Now I'm resting on my hands, allowing my legs to point outward a foot above the floor.I won't take any special pains in avoiding Solas. Now that I think about it, avoiding him might look pretty conspicuous.

I finish my stretching, sweat beads across my brow, and my limbs are pleasantly sore. Strapping a dagger and coin purse to the belt around my waist, I slip out the door. "Good morning, my lady," a soldier's greeting makes me jump, hand flying to the hilt of my weapon.

"Who are you?" I narrow my eyes, nearly backing into asecondsoldier. "Both of you?"

The first soldier raises his hands defensively, saying, "Commander Rutherford ordered a watch put outside the Herald's door once you were taken, my lady. We apologise if we frightened you." Theyareboth dressed in Inquisition armor.

"Oh, um, no problem. Thank you."Were they here last night?

Most likely.

Cheeks burning, I scurry away.What to do? I need something to do… I make my way around the village, checking in on those still recovering from their injuries, though I find most of them holed up in the Chantry. For the most part, people are healing smoothly and much more quickly than they would have on Earth.Perhaps thanks to Adan's potions? My nitpicking must have sunk into the heads of the Chantry sisters, as infection is found in injuries few and far between.

"Hello, messere," a familiar raven-haired woman greets me. She's leaning on a wall near a side door, the one that leads to the dungeons if I recall correctly. Bandaging peeks out from beneath an exceptionally long tunic.

"Erica," I recall, moving to join her. "How are you doing?"

"Better than I've any right to be," she grins, teeth flashing in the torchlight. "I remembered most of what you'd said, so when others tried tending to my leg I could give them some instruction."

"I see you're standing alright. Any clue when you'll be able to hold a sword again?"

Erica grimaces, "Actually, I thought you might have a better idea."

"Does it hurt to walk?"

"My leg is sore, but no more than it is after a day of rigorous training exercises."

I hum contemplatively. "Walking is probably fine then,maybejogging in a few days if you think you can handle it. I'd give it another week, maybe two, before you should start weaning back into training."

She nods, grim. "Is it alright if I participate in exercises that mostly utilize my upper body?"

"I'd still wait a few more days, but you can give it a shot. Beverycareful, use your best judgement, and I bet you'll be back to whacking demons in the head in no time."

"What is this I hear about whacking demons in the head?" Yet another familiar voice asks.

Erica automatically stiffens, arm crossing over her chest. "Commander, ser, we were discussing when I might get back to training, ser."

"No need to be so formal, Trevelyan," Cullen chuckles. "Calling me by name is fine when we aren't marching to battle. Youareranked just below Rylen."

Trevelyan? The Trevelyan? But shouldn't she be dead? Does that mean there's a Lavellan and a Cadash somewhere out there?

She tugs at her collar uneasily, "Sorry, ser. I mean... Rutherford. I'm getting used to it."

Glancing between her and myself, he continues, "so whenwillyou be able to get back to training?"

"If everything goes well, hopefully no more than two weeks," I answer.

"That's good," he smiles, pleased at the relatively swift recovery time. "You should go speak with Rylen. He's been worried sick about you."

"This is just your way of getting me to write up reports, isn't it?" Erica wrinkles her nose.

"Perhaps," Cullen admits, not looking apologetic in the slightest.

She grins despite this. "Fine. It's boring being incapacitated anyway." Clearly favoring her injured leg, she exits the Chantry.

Cullen turns to me, remnants of a smile still softening his face. "We continued speaking about who should assist you during your magical studies after you left last night."

"What did you decide?"Probably an ex-Circle mage with a stick up their ass. Ugh.

"There are only three other mages currently in Haven. Minaeve, the creature researcher, is only an apprentice. There is a ten year old child in Minaeve's care who is, understandably, completely out of the question. That left only the elven apostate, Solas," he hands me a bound scroll. "You will report to him by the end of today. See that he receives this."

What.

Wait, hold on a second."Cullen," I hold up a finger to stop his departure. "Dirk is...gone, right?"

His lip quirks up a little, warping his scar. "Sturgeon? Yes, he was dismissed before dawn. He is gone, and not completely unscathed, either."

"What does that mean? What happened?"

"Varric happened. He, ah,accidentallymisfired Bianca while the man was walking past, and a bolt pierced a rather, ah, sensitive area. His left testicle had to be removed." With that absolute gem of knowledge bestowed upon me, he dips his head in farewell and slips into Josephine's office.

A snort escapes my lips, followed by a deep chuckle that bubbles up into breathlessly hysterical laughter. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I gasp for air, hanging onto a pillar for dear life. "That's beautiful. Oh god, it's perfect. Ohman. He'll go to have sex and he'll only have one ball!"The hysterical laughter has turned to hysterical howling, and by now people are coming out of the halls to complain about the horrible ruckus I'm causing.

I can't bring myself to care.


	14. Take a Chill Quill

I am crossing by the front gates later that afternoon, on my way to Solas' cottage, when I hear Varric's voice. "Hey, Bluebird, how's it feel to be back?"

I approach the dwarf, joining him at a fire pit near his tent. "To be honest? It's sort of surreal. It's almost like I was never even gone. It sounds self centered, I know, but it's always a bit strange when life moves on without you, even for such a short time."

"Believe me, I get it," Varric nods, driving a stick wrapped with pieces of meat between burning logs. "Back in Kirkwall, people vanish off the streets all the time, and nobody notices. If theydonotice, they don't say a word. Too busy looking after their own skins to worry about anybody else's. That's one of the reasons we accepted Anders' craziness for so long, you know. He was doing something for the sorts of people no one else gave a nug's ass about, and we all looked the other way. Kept looking the other way until it was too late and bits of Chantry were raining down over the city."

"Is the moral of this story 'everyone who helps people is secretly a terrorist', or am I missing something?"

"No, nothing that blunt," he smirks, though there's no mirth in his eyes. "It's just that you're right. People vanish, life goes on. A Chantry blows up and life goes on. A Breach opens up in the sky, spilling demons and Fade crap all over Thedas, and life goes on. The world just seems to have a funny way of ignoring all sorts of shit."

I hum in response, plopping down in the snow next to him. "Nice way of putting it. You know, Varric, maybe you should consider going into writing. I hear it's reasonably profitable."

"Very funny, Bluebird."

"Wait," I gasp, a shining idea formulating in my brain, "you're anauthor."

"Did you...not already know that? I do actually remember the Seeker talking about it."

"Andyou're decent at lying to people," I continue, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

"Now that's just hurtful," the dwarf places a hand over his heart, wounded. "And to think, I shot a guy in the ballsack for you."

"You did!" I crow, the glorious image of awkward one-balled sex making me burst into another fit of helpless giggling. "Hearing about that was honestly the first time I've really laughed since falling out of the Breach. Thank you."

"All in a day's work," he winks, withdrawing the meaty kebab thing from the fire and blowing on it to cool it down. "Now, what's so important about my being a lying scoundrel of an author?

"Well, uh, I'd like to ask for a favor, and I'd like you to keep it to yourself regardless of whether you accept or decline."

"Alright, call me intrigued," he uses his teeth to tear a hunk of meat from the stick. "Whaddya need?"

I take a deep breath, looking him dead in the eye. "Can you teach me how to read?"

His dark eyes squint a little as he attempts to gauge my seriousness. "You're not pulling my leg, are you," he asks in a way that doesn't sound like a question.

"No. I genuinely do not know how to read or write in Trade, and I think that needs to be quickly remedied."

"Why don't you talk to Ruffles about setting something up? I don't think I'm the best—"

"No, Varric. I can't. The advisors have enough on their plates without worrying about my illiteracy. I'm a fast learner, I swear. I've had to be."Also, because this is verbally English, the grammatical structure should be extremely similar, if not identical."Just basic Trade should be enough for me to get by with this whole Inquisition thing. Please, Varric?"

"Look," he grimaces, "it's not necessarily that I don't want to, it's that I have no idea how to go about doing something like this. I wasn't exactly a tutor for the noble brats back in Kirkwall."

"Okay," I chew on part of my lip, trying not to be offended by being equated to a noble brat. "Well the first step with a new language is usually its alphabet."

He peers at me sideways, sighs, and says, "Fine. Gimme a minute." He returns with a few scraps of parchment, a container of ink, and a quill. "There are thirty-two symbols in Trade that can be combined in a bunch of different ways to make unique sounds…" He writes each of them out in ink, telling me what sounds they make, and allows me to copy them in mymuch sloppier handwriting. Varric chuckles when I smear ink across the parchment yet again, saying, "You write like you've never held a quill before." Seeing the flat look I give him, his grin fades a little, "Oh yeah."

Within half an hour, I've gotten the hang of writing my name, basic pronouns, a plethora of color words, some animals, and two or three simple pleasantries. "Do you mind if we continue doing this? I'll try not to take up too much of your time."

"Half an hour a day? I might be able to manage that," Varric smiles in a roguish manner. "But this doesn't seem like a fair deal. What do I get out of it?"

Shit. How could I have forgotten about payment?

"Oh," I purse my lips, pretending to pout. "Is the ecstatic pleasure that comes with being in my presence not good enough?"

"That much of my time shouldat leastbe worth a mug of ale."

"Per day or per week?" I ask, already fishing through my coin purse. It would eat through my money at drastically different rates depending on how he answers.

His eyebrows lift in shock. "What? No, I just meant one mug of ale." Dropping his voice in a conspiratorial fashion, he continues, "though I'd be a fool to object to moreale if you're offering."

"Yeah, man. Anything you want, within reason. But are you sure? One mug of ale costs barely anything." My objections fall on deaf ears.

"You had some good points, you know," Varric shrugs. "The way I see it, you're about as close to the heart of all this weird shit as Reaver is, minus the glowy hand. Who knows what all is gonna happen? If you're that worried, I'll teach you what I can."

"Thank you, Varric," I say, feeling a pleasant warmth in my chest.

"It's weird. I just wouldn't have pegged you as the illiterate type. You talk like you're well-read," the dwarf frowns. "Really, I sorta thought you were some runaway noblewoman or something. Maybe a wealthy merchant's daughter."

I roll my eyes, "Me, a member of nobility? That'll be the day."If a middle class person from a first world country is beyond wealthy compared to the rest of modern Earth, I guess I am basically noble here. Ew. Am I like the Thedosian equivalent of one of those gazillionaires with four yachts and nine sports cars?

Maybe not quite that extreme.

Varric hands me the parchment I've been working on, shaking his head. "I'm just saying. You're an odd one."

My lips quirk up in a half smile. "What's wrong with being odd?"

"Nothing at all, Bluebird. Nothing at all."


End file.
